UC-NRLF 


REMINISCENCES 


RY 


JOHN    SARTAIN- 180.8-1 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


The  Reminiscences  of 
a  Very  Old  Man 


JOHN   SARTAIN,  IN  HIS  SQTH  YEAR 
From  a  Photograph  hy  Wright  &  Cook 


HE   REMINISCENCES 

OF    A    VERY    OLD    MAN 
1808-1897.    BY  JOHN   SARTAIN 

ACADEMICIAN  OF  THE  PENNSYLVANIA 
ACADEMY  OF  THE  FINE  ARTS,  CA7A- 
LIERE  OF  THE  ROYAL  EQUESTRIAN 
ORDER  OF  THE  CROWN  OF  ITALY,  ETC. 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK,  MDCCCC 


-A 


REAOIR8  ftGOM 

COPYRIGHT,  1899,  BY  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 
I 

THE  INTRODUCTION  PAGE     ix 

REMINISCENCES  OF  ENGLAND 

I.  London — 1808  to  1830  i 

II.  The  Peace  Jubilees — 1814  and  1815  25 

III.  The  Rod  34 

IV.  Coven t  Garden  Theatre  in   1821 — The 
"Kemhle  Family"  Picture  5*1 

V.  Theatre    Life     Continued — Marshalsea 

and  King's  Bench  Prisons  72 

VI.  Turnpikes  87 

VII.  Apprenticeship — William  Young  Ottley 
and  his  Friends,  Rogers,  Leslie,  Lawrence, 
Dihdin,  Douce,  and  Roscoe  93 

VIII.  William  Blake  and  John  Parley  108 

IX.  Studio   Work — Henry   Richter — Eman- 
cipation 1 1 7 

REMINISCENCES  OF  AMERICA 

X.  Philadelphia  and  New  Tork  in  1830— 
National  Academy  of  Design — Philadel- 
phia Artists — Letter  from  Charles  Wil- 
son Peale  to  his  Son,  Rembrandt  Peale  1 35 
XL  Early  Art  Work  in  Philadelphia — Penn 
treaty  Monument — Henry  Inman —  Pic- 
ture Galleries — Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts 
Fire                                                                 \  57 
[  v] 


CONTENTS 

XII.  Thomas  Bishop  and  Dr.  Abercrombie— 
Joshua  Shaw  ;  Artists'  Fund  Society  and 
Academy   of  the  Fine  Arts — Ivanhoe's 
Rekecca  —  John    N eagle    and    David 
Edwin  I?1 

XIII.  Graham's  Magazine — Edgar  Allan  Poe 

—  cfhomas  Cottrell  Clarke  196 

XIV.  Sartain's  Magazine — Henry  B.  Hirst, 
Thomas  Dunn  English,  R.  H.  Stoddard, 
John  Howard  Payne — Abolition  Society 

—  Christ  Rejetted,  King  Solomon  and  the 
Iron  Worker ,  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  and 
other  Large  Plates — American  Gallery 
of  Art — Tear  in  Europe — Larkin   G. 
Mead  2l8 

XV.  Stanfald,    Ruskin,    Eastlake,    Cornelius, 
Schnorr,    1863 — New  Academy  of  the 
Fine  Arts — American  Exhibition  in  Lon- 
don, 1887 — Encaustic  Painting  241 
XVI.  Centennial    Exhibition,    1876 — Stuarfs 

Washington  262 

XV 1 1 .  Washington  Monument —  Monument  Cem- 
etery, Philadelphia  272 
XVIII.  An     Unexecuted    Project — Some    Thir- 
teenth Century  Woodcuts  278 
XIX.  Conclusion  285 
THE  INDEX  291 

[vi] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

JOHN  Sartain,  in  his  eighty-ninth  year.  From  a 
photograph  by  Wright  &  Cook          Frontispiece 
'The  Toll-Gate  by  Apsley  House  ;  Entrance-Gates  to 
Hyde  Park  at  Hyde  Park  Corner  ;  Turnpike-Gate 
at  Hyde  Park  Corner  ( 'Looking  West}  \  2 

Old  London  Bridge.  From  an  Etching  hy  E.  W.  Cooke         18 

Whitehall  Palace,  as  designed  by  Inigo  Jones.  After 
a  Drawing  in  the  British  Museum  24 

Temple  of  Concord,  Green  Park,   1814.  Britannia. 

Transparency  by  Thomas  Stothard,  R.  A.  30 

Old  British  Museum,  Montague  House  40 

Cheapside  before  the  Fire  of  London  50 

The  Trial  of  Queen  Katharine — the  Kemble  Family. 
From  an  Engraving  hy  John  Sartain  after  the 
Painting  by  G.  H.  Harlow  64 

The  Opening  of  New  London  Bridge.  After  the  Paint- 
ing hy  Clarkson  Stanfield,  R.  A.  80 

Westminster,  Old  Parliament  Houses  and  Westminster 
Bridge  100 

St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  Lord  Mayor's  Day.  After  the 
Painting  by  David  Roberts,  R.A.  112 

[  vii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Remains  of  Winchester  Palace,  Southwark.  From  an 

Engraving  hy  George  Cooke  124 

Washington's  Mock-Funeral  Crossing  Market  Street, 
Philadelphia.  Centre  Square  Water-Works  in  the 
Distance  on  the  Site  of  the  present  City  Hall.  From 
an  Etching  after  W.  Birch  136 

Patriotism  and  Age.  From  an  Engraving  hy  John 

Sartain  after  the  Painting  hy  John  N  eagle  142 

Birthplace  of  Benjamin  West,  P.  R.  A.  From  a  Draw- 
ing made  in  1837  hy  John  Sartain  168 

Miss  Rebecca  Gratz.  From  a  Drawing  hy  John  Sar- 
tain after  the  Painting  hy  Thomas  Sully  182 

Pat  Lyon.  From  the  Painting  hy  John  N  eagle  in  the 
Possession  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine 
Arts,  Philadelphia  192 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  212 

Friends'1  Meeting-House  at  Springfield  fnoiu  Swarth- 
morej,  Delaware  County ',  Pennsylvania,  where  Ben- 
jamin West  Received  Permission  to  become  a  Painter. 
From  a  Drawing  made  in  1837  hy  John  Sartain  232 

Thomas  Sully.  After  an  Engraving  hy  John  Sartain 
from  the  Painting  hy  Thomas  Sully  255 


INTRODUCTION 

ENVENUTO  Cellini,  the  eminent  Flor- 
entine artist  and  consummate  bravo,  de- 
clares that  "  It  is  the  duty  of  every  one, 
in  whatever  state  or  condition  of  life,  to  be  his 
own  biographer ;  but  he  should  not  enter  upon 
this  important  and  arduous  undertaking  before  he 
has  attained  the  age  of  forty/'  Now  as  I  already 
number  much  more  than  twice  that  many  years, 
it  is  fair  to  assume  that  Cellini  would  pronounce 
me  fully  qualified,  at  least  in  the  matter  of  age. 
But  I  should  never  have  entered  upon  this  task, 
for  task  it  is,  had  it  not  been  for  the  importunity 
of  numerous  friends  who  insist  that  much  that  I 
have  seen,  and  much  that  I  know  of  many  per- 
sons of  distinction  both  in  this  country  and  in 
Europe,  ought  to  be  recorded.  Should  I  find  time 
from  other  pressing  and  more  important  affairs 
to  accomplish  this  writing,  the  reader  —  if  reader 
there  happens  to  be  —  will  find,  I  hope,  that  I 
have  avoided  what  Chester  Harding  calls  an 
Egotistography.  My  reminiscences  will  go  back 
to  what  I  saw  of  the  great  national  jubilee  re- 


INTRODUCTION 

joicings  of  1814  on  the  occasion  of  Napoleon's 
overthrow  by  the  allied  forces  of  Europe,  and 
his  banishment  to  Elba. 

Every  drama,  whether  of  real  or  mimic  life, 
must  be  provided  with  a  stage  and  a  theatre. 
Even  for  the  performance  of  Punch  this  is  essen- 
tial. What  a  shifting  of  scenery  has  not  London 
presented  from  time  to  time,  as  successive  aftions 
—  often  tragic,  sometimes  ludicrous  or  pleasur- 
able— passed  in  panoramic  fashion  before  the 
observer !  What  it  was  my  fortune  to  see  in  an 
unobtrusive  way  of  the  scenes  and  performances 
with  which  I  happened  to  come  in  contacl,  it 
will  be  the  purpose  of  the  following  pages  to 
present  in  manner  as  best  I  may,  a  simple  unpre- 
tentious narrative. 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  mention  here  the 
immediate  impulse  toward  the  starting  of  this 
book.  A  small  gathering  of  intimates  in  my  li- 
brary one  evening  included  my  esteemed  friends, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  A.  Janvier.  In  the  course 
of  the  general  conversation,  I  had  occasion  to 
relate  the  case  of  a  man  who  endeavoured  to  evade 
payment  of  a  just  claim  by  means  of  a  quibble. 
In  the  written  obligation  the  words  "  this  inden- 


INTRODUCTION 

ture"  were  used,  but  as  the  four  smooth  edges  of 
the  document  formed  a  perfect  parallelogram,  he 
argued  that  there  was  no  indenture,  and  there- 
fore the  contract  was  not  binding.  The  judge  on 
the  bench  asked  to  look  at  the  agreement.  When 
it  was  handed  up  to  him,  he  took  out  his  pen- 
knife and  cut  one  edge  of  the  paper  to  a  waved 
line,  and  then  returned  it  to  the  captious  dispu- 
tant, saying,  "  It  is  now  an  indenture." 
This  suggested  to  Mr.  Janvier  an  amusing  idea. 
He  drew  up  an  obligation  that  I  would  within  one 
year  from  date  begin  writing  my  reminiscences. 
He  placed  the  pen  in  my  hand  and  I  signed  it. 
He  then  cut  it  in  two  diagonally  in  a  waved  line 
from  one  corner  to  the  other.  "There,  that 's  an 
indenture.  You  may  have  one  half.  I  shall  keep 
the  other,  and  will  hold  you  to  it." 
Hence  this  book. 


Reminiscences  of  England 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CHAPTER      I 

London — 1808  to  1830 

HE  London  of  my  earliest  recollection,  which 
my  mind's  eye  still  sees  with  vivid  distinct- 
ness, exists  no  longer,  or  at  least  only  in  a 
few  detached  fragments  left  here  and  there.  The  miles 
of  fields  that  I  remember,  and  which  in  part  I  have  trav- 
ersed, are  now  covered  with  smoke-blackened  houses, 
and  many  extensive  outlying  wild  commons  are  trans- 
formed into  beautiful  parks  and  gardens.  So  now  to 
begin,  let  us  ignore  the  London  of  to-day  and  sub- 
stitute a  few  glimpses  of  the  London  of  my  child- 
hood. 

Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  picturesque  beauties 
of  St.  James'  Park,  its  winding  and  varied  lake  shore 
and  islands  peopled  with  swans  and  other  water  fowl, 
must  find  it  difficult  to  realize  in  imagination  the  place 
as  I  knew  it  prior  to  1820.  A  broad,  straight  canal 
divided  the  enclosure  into  two  long  fields,  from  which 
the  public  was  excluded  and  which  were  used  only  for 
pasturage.  A  few  fine  old  elms  stood  here  and  there, 
remote  from  one  another.  Midway  of  its  length,  the 
canal  was  spanned  by  a  one-arched  Chinese  bridge 
with  a  pagoda  over  the  crown  of  the  arch.  It  had  been 
built  for  the  Peace  Celebration  in  1814,  and  had  be- 


REMINISCENCES 

come  a  valued  short-cut  by  way  of  Queen  Anne's 
Gate  to  what  was  then  known  as  Tothill's  Fields.  It 
was  for  pedestrians  only,  and  the  rise  at  each  end  was 
by  a  succession  of  steps  and  platforms. 
The  Mall  on  the  north  side  existed  then  as  now,  but 
the  ranks  of  trees  were  finer  and  larger  than  the  sickly 
race  that  has  succeeded  them.  The  separation  of  the 
Mall  from  the  grassy  enclosure  was  by  a  dry  ditch 
with  a  wooden  railing  at  the  bottom,  painted  black 
with  some  kind  of  pitchy  paint.  There  were  no  gates 
anywhere,  and  I  never  knew  how  the  animals  grazing 
within,  chiefly  sheep,  were  got  in  or  out,  but  there 
must  have  been  somewhere  concealed  a  movable  panel 
for  the  purpose.  For  all  that,  I  and  the  other  children 
used  to  get  in  to  gather  the  buttercups  and  daisies,  and 
the  way  we  accomplished  it  was  this :  the  upright  rails 
were  mostly  just  a  trifle  too  close  together  to  let  my 
little  head  through,  but  after  trying  some  twenty  or 
more,  Eureka!  a  space  a  bit  wider  would  be  found. 
Where  my  head  would  pass  through  my  body  would, 
and  thus  went  in  the  whole  troop  of  us. 
In  those  primitive  days  of  innocence  London  had  no 
police,  but  only  constables  who  were  selected  from 
among  respectable  shopkeepers.  They  remained  at 
home  minding  their  own  proper  business  except  when 
called  out  to  arrest  a  thief  or  some  disturber  of  the 
peace,  and  all  the  neighbourhood  knew  which  grocer, 
shoemaker  or  tallow-chandler  represented  the  majesty 

[  2] 


ENGLAND 

of  the  law.  As  insignia  of  office  and  to  inspire  awe  and 
reverence  of  his  authority,  each  constable  was  furnished 
by  the  powers  that  were  with  a  small  round  staff  about 
nine  inches  long,  with  a  rude  carving  on  the  end  in- 
tended to  represent  a  kingly  crown,  the  whole  painted 
with  some  device  that  I  do  not  remember.  As  these 
defenders  of  law  and  order  issued  forth  from  their 
private  affairs  only  when  summoned,  we  children  were 
never  molested  for  trespassing  on  his  Majesty's  re- 
served domain. 

The  south  side  of  the  park  was  planted  with  rows  of 
trees  bordering  broad  straight  walks,  corresponding 
with  those  on  the  north,  but  fewer  in  number.  There 
was  no  public  carriage  way  then  as  now,  no  thorough- 
fare except  for  pedestrians,  and  it  was  so  little  fre- 
quented as  to  be  always  a  solitude  save  when  the  drill 
sergeant  exercised  his  awkward  squad  of  raw  recruits. 
At  its  eastern  end,  this  southern  boundary  was  irregu- 
lar and  zigzag  and  was  known  as  Birdcage  Walk.  A 
brick  wall  at  the  western  end  toward  Buckingham 
House  enclosed  the  soldiers'  barracks,  and  I  have 
stood  near  that  wall  listening  with  feelings  of  distress 
to  the  agonized  groans  of  a  man  being  flogged. 
West  of  the  park  stood  the  red  brick  mansion  known 
as  Buckingham  House,  the  town  house  of  Queen 
Charlotte,  wife  of  George  the  Third  and  prolific 
mother  of  his  fifteen  children,  whom  Byron  styled  "a 
bad  ugly  woman."  The  east  view  from  its  windows 

[3] 


REMINISCENCES 

was  along  the  straight  canal,  while  northward,  across 
the  Green  Park,  was  seen  the  shining  fountain  of 
the  "Queen's  Basin,"  which  lay  parallel  with  Picca- 
dilly and  less  than  a  stone's  throw  from  it.  This  foun- 
tain looked  well  enough  when  seen  from  afar,  but  it 
was  distance  that  lent  enchantment  to  the  view,  for  it 
consisted  only  of  an  ugly  iron  pipe,  some  twenty  feet 
in  height  perhaps.  A  considerable  body  of  water  poured 
from  the  top,  which  was  covered  with  a  plain  iron  cap 
to  spread  the  flow  before  it  fell.  A  few  feet  from  the 
base  of  the  pipe  was  a  circular  brick  wall  with  a  flat 
stone  capping,  intended  no  doubt  to  contain  the  de- 
scending flood  which  was  to  fall  in  a  sheet  over  its 
brim,  but  the  open  joints  of  the  brick  work  let  it 
through  so  freely  that  the  surface  of  the  water  within 
was  on  the  same  level  as  that  outside.  In  winter,  I 
have  seen  the  water  of  this  fountain  frozen  into  the 
most  fantastic  shapes,  lovely  to  behold,  stalagmites  of 
crystal  rising  to  meet  pendant  icicles  in  the  strangest 
contorted  forms,  sparkling  with  beauty  when  the  sun 
shone.  Four  or  five  magnificent  old  elms  stood  west 
of  the  fountain,  with  seats  against  their  trunks  under 
the  shade  of  their  broad  spreading  branches,  which 
when  occupied  by  ladies  made  a  charming  feature  of 
the  place.  But  those  fine  trees  died  of  old  age  long 
years  ago,  and  the  Queen's  Basin  is  filled  up  and  grass- 
grown;  and  as  the  mind's  eye  reproduces  the  things 
that  are  past  and  gone,  a  sort  of  heartache  arises  along 

[4] 


ENGLAND 

with  the  vision  of  what  is  no  more.  The  same  change 
has  come  over  what  was  Rosamond's  Pond,  which  re- 
posed amid  the  grove  in  the  hollow  some  sixty  yards 
further  west. 

West  of  all  this  was,  and  is,  Hyde  Park  Corner, 
where  the  northwest  and  southeast  angles  of  the  two 
parks  terminate  diagonally  opposite  each  other  at  the 
end  of  Piccadilly;  but  how  different  from  its  present 
dignified  and  imposing  appearance  was  this  locality  in 
the  reign  of  the  third  George.  The  classic  gates  of 
Decimus  Burton  had  not  then  risen  in  stately  beauty, 
nor  had  the  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  put 
on  its  architectural  attire,  for  both  Apsley  House  and 
the  hospital  almost  opposite  were  plain  unsightly  brick 
buildings.  The  conspicuous  feature  of  the  spot  was  an 
obstruction  in  the  shape  of  a  turnpike  gate,  which 
stretched  its  all-embracing  arms  from  side  to  side  of 
the  wide  avenue,  and  all  comers  not  pedestrians  had 
to  stand  and  deliver  before  being  permitted  to  pass 
through.  Those  were  slow-going  times,  but  imagine 
if  you  can  the  traffic  of  to-day  held  in  check  by  such 
a  barrier;  the  pent-up  accumulation  stagnating  on  both 
sides  of  the  gates  would  indeed  be  a  sight  to  wonder 
at. 

So  have  I  seen  the  waters  of  Father  Thames  piled  up 
at  old  London  Bridge,  waiting  their  turn  to  get  through 
the  narrow  ways  between  the  piers  of  its  small  Gothic 
arches.  Whether  the  flow  was  up  stream  or  down  it 

[5] 


REMINISCENCES 

was  the  same,  almost  like  a  waterfall  over  a  dam.  But 
the  toll-gate  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  so  is  King 
John's  old  bridge,  and  free  passage  to  traffic  on  land 
and  water  is  permitted  on  both  thoroughfares. 
No  Regent  Street  existed  as  yet,  nor  Regent's  Park; 
the  latter  was,  I  think,  planned  and  planted,  but  it 
was  invisible  to  the  public.  What  is  now  Albany 
Street,  built  up  with  houses  on  both  sides,  was  then  a 
country  road,  with  a  walk  for  pedestrians  on  the  east 
side  only,  and  on  Sunday  afternoons  it  was  thronged 
with  the  cockney  populace  on  their  way  to  Primrose 
Hill.  I  once  saw  a  frightened  hare  on  this  road  rushing 
full  tilt  toward  the  built-up  part  of  the  town,  but  un- 
pursued  because  so  unexpected.  The  prospect  east- 
ward from  the  top  of  Primrose  Hill  was  a  wide  spread 
of  grassy  meadows,  and  at  the  foot  of  its  eastern  slope 
was  Chalk  Farm,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  which  duel- 
ists used  to  resort  to  give  and  receive  satisfaction, 
when  that  style  of  mutual  assassination  was  fashion- 
able. The  twin  mount  on  the  other  side,  the  summit 
of  which  is  now  covered  with  buildings,  used  to  be 
known  as  Blood  Hill,  and  derived  that  appellation,  I 
think,  from  the  circumstance  that  the  bodies  of  some 
murdered  men  had  been  found  in  the  ditch  at  its  foot. 
Before  Regent  Street  existed,  the  chief  thoroughfare 
between  Oxford  Street  to  the  north  (then  commonly 
called  Oxford  Road),  and  Piccadilly  to  the  south,  was 
a  narrow  lane  named  Swallow  Street,  the  only  remain- 

[6] 


ENGLAND 

ing  portion  of  which  still  enters  Piccadilly  opposite 
St.  James*  Church.  The  traffic  arriving  from  the  Strand 
by  way  of  the  Haymarket,  uniting  with  that  from 
Coventry  Street,  passed  up  Tichborne  Street  (now 
obliterated),  through  Marylebone  Street,  and  entered 
Swallow  Street  from  the  northern  end  of  Warwick 
Street.  The  house  line  on  the  east  side  of  the  modern 
Regent  Street  is  the  same  as  was  the  east  line  of  Swal- 
low Street,  the  present  breadth  having  been  obtained 
by  totally  abolishing  the  entire  west  side  of  the  old 
lane.  I  remember  distinctly  the  appearance  before  the 
transformation  began. 

The  avenue  planned  for  connecting  Waterloo  Place 
with  Regent  Street  took  the  graceful  sweep  of  a  quarter 
circle,  and  was  named  the  Regent's  Quadrant.  When 
the  Roman  Doric  colonnade  on  both  sides  of  the  street 
existed,  as  originally  built  by  the  architect  Nash,  the 
effed:  was  extremely  beautiful,  but  the  columns  were 
long  since  removed. 

I  remember  well  the  beginning  of  the  demolition  of 
houses  for  opening  Regent  Street,  for  before  this,  the 
school  I  attended  in  Air  Street  stood  on  a  spot  now 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  of  the  Regent's  Quadrant. 
At  the  foot  of  Waterloo  Place,  which  is  after  all  pro- 
perly a  part  of  Regent  Street  and  was  built  at  the  same 
time,  stood  Carlton  House,  the  residence  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  He  had  become  Regent  upon  the  mental 
failure  of  his  father,  George  the  Third,  and  the  new 

[7] 


REMINISCENCES 

street  was  named  in  his  honour.  The  building  had  a 
beautifully  proportioned  Corinthian  portico  of  six  col- 
umns on  the  centre  of  its  north  front,  of  sufficient 
projection  for  a  carriage  to  drive  under  it,  but  unfor- 
tunately this  fine  facade  was  partially  concealed  from 
view  by  a  wall  on  a  line  with  the  Pall  Mall  house 
fronts.  This  wall  served  as  base  for  a  range  of  coupled 
Ionic  columns,  interrupted  at  either  end  by  arched 
gates  for  the  entrance  and  exit  of  carriages.  The  pal- 
ace itself  could  be  seen  but  imperfectly  through  this 
screen. 

I  have  mentioned  the  old  London  Bridge  and  the  dam 
it  formed  against  the  rising  and  falling  tide,  but  it  was 
not  only  the  stone  piers  that  made  the  obstruction;  it 
was  the  starlings  built  around  the  piers  for  their  pro- 
tection that  so  seriously  narrowed  the  channels.  I  re- 
member that  they  resembled  enormous  barges  with 
narrow  prows  at  both  ends. 

The  next  bridge  west  of  London  Bridge  was  Black- 
friars,  spanning  the  river  in  a  graceful  curve,  each  pier 
being  ornamented  on  both  fronts  with  coupled  col- 
umns, which  were  utilized  as  supports  for  recessed 
seats  for  weary  wayfarers  on  the  sidewalks  above.  This 
fine  structure  was  torn  down  a  few  years  ago  to  give 
place  to  one  better  suited  to  the  requirements  of  the 
enlarged  traffic  of  the  present  day. 
Farringdon  Street,  beginning  at  the  foot  of  Holborn 
Hill,  leads  southward  to  this  bridge,  and  I  well  re- 

[8] 


ENGLAND 

member  the  market  house  that  occupied  the  middle 
of  the  roadway  from  end  to  end,  terminating  at  the 
foot  of  Ludgate  Hill.  Often  have  I  walked  through 
this  market  after  dark  during  its  hours  of  aclive  busi- 
ness, noisy,  in  the  butcher's  portion  especially,  with 
invitations  to  "buy,  buy,  buy,"  and  the  crisp,  clicking 
accompaniment  of  knife  sharpening  on  steel.  Under 
the  pavement  where  this  market  stood,  is  a  culverted 
sewer  through  which  flows  a  torrent  of  fluid  horrors. 
Before  it  was  arched  over  it  inspired  that  couplet  of 
Pope's  :- 

'There  the  Fleet  ditch  with  disemboguing  streams ', 
Rolls  its  Hack  tribute  of  dead  dogs  to  Thames. 
Yet  this  now  noisome  current  must  have  been  a  beau- 
tiful stream  of  clear  water,  flowing  between  green  slop- 
ing banks,  high  and  wide,  when  it  bore  on  its  sheltering 
bosom  the  Roman  fleet.  Caesar's  ships  having  floated 
here  gave  name  to  it  and  to  near  localities,  as  Fleet 
River,  Fleet  Street,  and  Fleet  prison. 
The  river  banks  were  high  and  in  some  places  abrupt, 
as  was  shown  in  many  spots  with  which  I  was  familiar; 
Breakneck  Stairs  for  instance,  almost  opposite  Hoi- 
born  Hill.  This  appropriately  named  long  and  steep 
flight  of  stone  steps  came  down  from  a  squalid  quarter 
of  tall,  old  lodging  houses,  decayed  and  wretched.  I 
always  saw  linen,  miscalled  white,  hanging  out  to  dry 
on  lines  projected  from  the  windows  by  means  of  long 
poles.  It  was  wash-day  all  the  time  with  one  or  other 

[9] 


REMINISCENCES 

of  the  numerous  tenants.  Here  lived  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, but  in  his  day  the  place  may  have  been  better; 
it  is  to  be  hoped  so  at  least.  The  slope  was  much  less 
steep  at  Ludgate  Hill,  where  once  stood  the  gate  to 
Lud's  town,  afterward  the  Londinium  of  the  Romans. 
But  further  upstream  the  valley  narrowed,  as  at  Clerk- 
enwell  on  one  side  and  Mutton  Hill  on  the  other.  The 
former  place  derived  its  name  from  its  having  been 
the  favourite  resort  of  the  London  clerks  for  their  hol- 
iday games,  near  a  well  of  superior  water.  Saffron  Hill 
on  the  west  side,  running  parallel  with  the  stream, 
was  but  slightly  undulating  for  that  reason.  I  remem- 
ber it  as  a  nest  of  thieves  or  worse,  and  the  home  of 
the  dangerous  classes  generally.  Dickens  in  Oliver 
Twt'sf  locates  his  bad  characters  in  this  neighbour- 
hood, but  a  large  part  of  the  quarter  has  been  pulled 
down  to  make  way  for  modern  improvements.  A  long 
way  further  north,  almost  as  far  as  Battle  Bridge  (now 
named  King's  Cross),  occurs  at  Pentonville  another 
steep  slope  on  the  east  bank,  and  here  was  a  noted 
pleasure  garden  called  Bagnidge  Wells.  Although  the 
whole  of  the  stream  has  now  disappeared  from  view, 
arched  over  for  a  culvert,  I  remember  this  northern 
part  running  open  to  the  air,  and  it  formed  a  pleasing 
feature  of  the  garden  of  Bagnidge  Wells,  through 
which  it  flowed.  Its  waters  were  of  course  pure  and 
uncontaminated  at  that  time,  for  it  still  babbled  among 
green  fields,  not  having  yet  reached  built-up  London. 

[  10] 


ENGLAND 

Still  further  north,  beyond  King's  Cross,  was  old  St. 
Pancras  Church  on  the  right  of  the  road  going  north, 
and  opposite  was  a  steep,  high  bank,  grass-grown, 
which  I  climbed  in  1823  to  make  a  sketch  of  the 
ruinous  old  building  on  the  other  side.  The  bank  was 
part  of  the  ancient  Roman  camp,  and  its  remaining 
in  such  good  condition  for  nearly  nineteen  centuries 
proves  the  excellence  of  the  protection  grass  sod  af- 
fords against  the  wear  of  the  weather.  The  earthworks 
here  were  probably  erected  by  the  men  who  came 
over  in  the  ships  that  lay  in  the  stream  below,  and 
Battle  Bridge  near  by  got  its  name  from  a  conflict 
between  them  and  the  native  Britons. 
When  I  recrossed  to  Europe  in  1855  I  went  to  ex- 
amine the  ancient  camp,  but  to  my  infinite  disappoint- 
ment it  had  been  levelled,  and  a  model  lodging-house 
reared  on  the  site.  The  tumble-down  bit  of  old  archi- 
tecture opposite  had  also  disappeared,  and  a  brand 
new  Gothic  church  reared  in  its  stead. 
The  names  of  places  often  serve  to  mark  the  site  of 
some  interesting  historical  event,  and  frequently  to  my 
great  regret  I  find  them  changed  by  some  busybody 
who  probably  knows  nothing  of  the  past,  and  there- 
fore cannot  guess  at  the  appropriateness  of  the  original 
appellation.  Battle  Bridge  was  so  called  for  the  greater 
part  of  twenty  centuries,  but  it  is  now  known  only  as 
King's  Cross,  and  the  new  name  has  this  trivial  origin. 
In  the  middle  of  the  wide  open  space  was  ereded  a 


REMINISCENCES 

sort  of  watchbox,  a  shelter  for  members  of  the  new 
police  force  which  had  superseded  the  constabulary. 
It  was  a  ridiculous  piece  of  architecture,  too  small  to 
hold  more  than  two  or  three,  and  reminded  most  peo- 
ple of  a  pepper-box,  and  it  was  commonly  so  desig- 
nated. The  crowning  feature  of  the  structure  was  a 
statue  of  George  the  Fourth,  and  from  that  the  space 
was  named  King's  Cross.  A  regrettable  change  of  this 
nature  was  made  in  a  street  back  of  the  County  Fire 
Office  and  Regent's  Quadrant,  close  against  where  I 
was  born,  the  sign  on  the  corner  of  which  now  reads 
Sherwood  Street.  The  right  name,  however,  which  it 
originally  bore  is  Sherrard,  derived  from  a  curious  old 
mansion  that  stood  on  the  east  side,  the  residence  of 
Lady  Sherrard,  whose  family  owned  Leicester  Square, 
then  Leicester  Fields.  I  suppose  some  wiseacre  in 
temporary  authority  fancied  the  true  name  to  be  a 
corruption  of  the  one  he  substituted,  and  thought  he 
was  working  a  restoration.  But  I  well  remember  the 
dignified  old  house  with  its  range  of  attached  columns 
in  front,  each  alternating  with  a  large  window,  many 
paned;  the  open  balustrade  over  whose  entablature 
screened  the  attic  window  above.  In  my  mind's  eye  I 
see  it  all  distinctly  now,  the  courtyard  in  front  with 
neither  pavement,  grass  nor  gravel,  but  only  levelled 
earth;  it  had  been  grassy  originally,  no  doubt,  but  as 
a  playground  for  children  was  worn  bare.  The  stair- 
way inside  leading  to  the  main  apartment  was  spacious, 

[    12] 


GATES  TO   HYDE   PARK:  AT  HYDE   PARK  CORNER 


THE  TOLL  GATE  BY  APSLEY  HOUSE 


TURNPIKE  GATE  AT  HYDE  PARK  CORNER 


ENGLAND 

and  the  large  L  shaped  room  was  used  as  a  billiard 
saloon  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember.  In  my  boyhood 
I  often  went  in  and  looked  on  at  the  play,  and  some- 
times was  pressed  into  service  to  mark  the  game  for 
the  players  by  moving  the  hands  on  the  two  dials. 
This  building  was  pulled  down  in  the  latter  part  of 
1819,  probably  before  that  meddlesome  Sherwood 
man  was  born. 

Near  that  clumsy  old  bridge  at  Westminster,  that  has 
been  replaced  by  one  of  extreme  beauty,  stood  a  group 
of  ugly,  black,  brick  buildings  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
river;  the  old  Parliament  Houses.  As  I  was  looking 
at  them  from  the  opposite  shore  one  day  in  1820, 
and  thinking  it  was  high  time  they  were  demolished, 
there  came  down  the  stream  a  steamboat.  I  had  not 
noticed  it  until  it  was  abreast  of  where  I  stood,  so 
noiseless  was  its  movement  and  so  absorbed  in  thought 
was  I.  It  swept  around  in  graceful,  curve  till  it  lay 
bow  upstream,  for  the  tide  was  running  out,  and  then 
dropped  anchor.  I  had  never  seen  a  steamboat  before, 
and  I  confess  that  I  was  awestruck,  and  a  palpitation 
in  my  breast  arose  at  the  novel  sight.  I  am  aware  how 
childish  this  must  appear  to  a  modern  reader,  but  if 
I  write  at  all  my  experiences  must  go  down  faithfully 
as  they  occurred.  There  are  times  favourable  to  in- 
tense impressions,  and  on  this  occasion  the  broad  spread 
of  the  twilight  sky,  reflected  from  the  dimpled  surface 
of  the  water,  deepened  the  contrast  of  gloom  on  the 

[  13] 


REMINISCENCES 

dark  Parliament  buildings  opposite,  while  the  perfect 
quiet  made  the  sudden  spectral  appearance  of  the 
steamboat  all  the  more  impressive. 
The  serene  calm  of  this  twilight  experience  was  in  sin- 
gular contrast  with  the  turbulent  scene  I  witnessed 
the  next  day  in  St.  James'  Park.  The  carriage  of  the 
King,  George  the  Fourth,  was  passing  along  the  road 
between  Carlton  House  and  the  arched  gate  of  the 
Horse  Guards,  preceded  by  a  small  troop  of  horse 
soldiers,  while  a  similar  troop  followed  in  the  rear.  But 
close  alongside  the  carriage  moved  a  group  of  women, 
uttering  loud  groans  and  hisses,  waving  clenched  fists 
above  their  heads,  and  yelling  execrations  against 
the  royal  occupant  within,  who  was  invisible  because 
the  blinds  of  the  carriage  were  close  drawn.  As  the 
cavalcade  neared  the  building  of  the  Horse  Guards, 
these  amazons  dropped  off".  What  surprised  me  was 
that  the  guards  did  not  interfere,  but  kept  on  at  a 
gentle  trot,  scarcely  faster  than  a  walk,  looking  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  as  if  unconscious  of  what 
was  going  on  close  to  the  carriage  they  were  supposed 
to  be  guarding.  In  explanation  of  this  surprising 
sight,  I  was  afterward  told  that  the  general  unpop- 
ularity of  the  King  was  just  then  intensified  by  the 
procedure  he  had  caused  to  be  instituted  against  his 
Queen,  which  also  accounted  for  the  sex  of  the  little 
mob. 
But  to  return  to  the  river.  In  front  of  me  lay  a  fleet 

[  H] 


ENGLAND 

of  flat-bottomed  coal  barges,  which  at  high  tide  were 
moored  afloat,  at  other  times  reposing  on  a  bed  of 
black,  shining  mud.  These  mud-spreads  of  old  Father 
Thames  at  London  were  a  serious  eye-sorrow  before 
the  days  of  the  Thames  Embankment.  Between  West- 
minster and  Waterloo  Bridges,  there  was  a  sort  of 
cove  on  the  north  side,  with  acres  of  this  unsightly 
stuff  festering  and  broiling  in  the  sun  at  every  low 
tide.  The  Embankment  reformed  all  this.  We  never 
hear  the  name  of  John  Martin,  the  artist,  associated 
as  it  should  be  with  this  great  public  improvement, 
yet  he  it  was  who  first  urged  its  construction  and 
drew  plans  for  it.  I  have  an  etching  by  him,  done 
not  later  than  1825,  giving  a  perspective  view  along  a 
street  he  planned,  from  his  projected  embankment  to 
the  southeast  angle  of  St.  Martin's  Church,  Trafalgar 
Square,  thus  opening  out  to  view  a  noble  building 
which  up  to  that  time  was  buried  among  narrow  alleys 
and  low  rookeries.  His  fertile  brain  had  also  perfected 
a  project  for  supplying  London  with  an  abundance  of 
pure  water  by  bringing  the  river  Coin  to  its  doors, 
through  a  varied  and  beautiful  landscape,  to  be  planted 
as  a  park  most  of  the  way.  I  possess  three  or  four  of 
his  etchings  of  the  scenery  that  he  designed  to  create 
for  the  passage  of  the  stream,  which  occasionally  de- 
scends in  picturesque  cascades. 

In  one  way  or  other,  artists  have  had  their  full  share 
in  the  achievement  of  many  of  the  most  important 

[  15] 


REMINISCENCES 

improvements  and  conveniences  that  we  at  present 
enjoy.  Imagine  what  a  slow-going  people  we  should 
of  necessity  be  without  steam  navigation;  the  artist 
Fulton  was  the  first  to  apply  successfully  the  force  of 
vapour  to  that  use.  How  tedious  would  now  appear 
the  means  for  communication  of  thought,  if  we  were 
suddenly  deprived  of  the  eleclric  telegraph;  it  was 
another  artist,  Morse,  who  first  utilized  that  myste- 
rious agent,  electricity,  for  the  purpose.  Da  Vinci  even 
exercised  his  brain  for  public  utility  in  inventing  the 
wheelbarrow.  The  artist,  Joshua  Shaw,  invented  the 
percussion  cap  for  firearms,  thus  dismissing  the  clumsy 
method  of  flint  and  steel.  Difficult  indeed  it  must 
have  been  in  the  old  time  to  follow  the  admonition 
of  Oliver  Cromwell,  "keep  your  powder  dry."  This 
same  landscape  painter,  Shaw,  invented  the  glazier's 
revolving  diamond  for  cutting  glass  in  curves  without 
shifting  the  finger  grip  on  the  handle,  an  invaluable 
advantage  to  workers  in  stained  glass,  in  which  curves 
are  multitudinous.  He  also  invented  the  wafer  prim- 
ing for  cannon.  For  this  and  other  improvements 
Congress  voted  him  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  and 
the  Czar  of  Russia  sent  him  a  present  of  a  purse  of 
money.  Both  Morse  and  Shaw  were  friends  of  mine, 
and  I  was  once  in  the  same  room  with  John  Martin, 
and  was  much  amused  at  seeing  him  puzzled  over 
the  drinking-glass  of  a  bird-cage,  wondering  why 
the  whole  bulk  of  water  did  not  flow  out,  as  it  was 

[  16] 


ENGLAND 

above  the  level  of  the  cup  where  the  bird  dipped 
his  bill.  He  understood  presently,  however,  that  for 
every  drop  of  water  that  came  out  a  bubble  of  air  had 
to  go  in. 

Although  London  remained  without  a  National  Gal- 
lery of  pictures  until  so  late  a  period  as  1822—23,  it 
did  possess  a  Museum,  thanks  to  that  enlightened  en- 
thusiast, Sir  Hans  Sloane,  whose  collection  became 
the  nucleus  of  the  present  fine  assemblage  of  curious 
and  beautiful  objects  housed  in  the  British  Museum, 
a  building  of  the  utmost  architectural  grandeur,  well 
worthy  of  the  nation.  Montague  House  was  the  origi- 
nal depository  of  the  collection.  It  stood  on  a  portion 
of  the  present  site,  and  although  regarded  at  the  time 
of  its  eredion  as  the  finest  residence  in  London,  it  was 
insignificant  in  comparison  with  the  present  noble 
structure.  It  was  in  the  French  style  with  mansard 
roofs,  and  was  built  of  brick.  The  eagerness  displayed 
by  Sloane  in  adding  to  his  gatherings  on  every  pos- 
sible occasion  is  alluded  to  by  Alexander  Pope  in  this 

wise: — 

"Gate!  How  cam's t  thou  here?" 

"  7  was  brought  to  Chiswfck  last  year, 
Battered  hy  wind  and  weather, 
In? go  Jones  put  me  together. 
Sir  Hans  Sloane  let  me  alone! 
Burlington  brought  me  hither? 

Sloane's  collections  were  largely  in  the  line  of  natural 

[  '7 1 


REMINISCENCES 

history,  I  believe,  but  subsequently  other  kinds  of 
objects  were  added,  such  for  example  as  a  fine  collec- 
tion of  Etruscan  vases,  then  the  Townley  collection 
of  ancient  sculptures,  after  that  the  Phidian  marbles 
from  the  Athenian  Parthenon.  Special  galleries  were 
constructed  for  the  display  of  these,  and  the  Townley 
galleries  were  admirable  for  showing  the  statues  to  the 
best  advantage;  the  light  was  direct,  not  diffused,  and 
the  beauties  of  the  forms  were  clearly  seen  and  under- 
stood. The  objects  were  not  then  lost  and  over- 
whelmed, as  now,  by  the  magnificence  of  the  archi- 
tecture, the  jewels  sacrificed  to  the  casket. 
In  the  Egyptian  room  of  the  British  Museum  is  the 
famous  "Rosetta  Stone,"  the  triple  inscription  on 
which  furnished  the  first  clue  to  the  deciphering  of 
Egyptian  characters,  the  same  inscription  being  re- 
peated on  it  in  Greek,  hieroglyphic  and  enchorial  or 
demotic.  This  precious  mass  of  basalt  is  now  safely 
enclosed  in  a  glass  case  by  itself,  where  no  finger  can 
touch  it,  but  when  I  was  a  student  drawing  from  the 
antiques  there  it  must  have  been  less  valued,  for  it 
lay  unprotected  on  the  stone  floor  and  I  used  to  sit 
on  it  while  eating  my  Abernethy  biscuits  for  lunch. 
There  were  only  three  bridges  over  the  Thames  at 
London  by  which  access  could  be  had  to  what  was 
known  as  St.  George's  Fields,  on  the  south  side. 
These  were  old  London  Bridge,  Blackfriars  and  West- 
minster; all  three  have  since  been  taken  down  to  make 

[  18] 


Q 

6 


RAf^ 

OFTHE  \ 

DIVERSITY  ; 

OF  / 


ENGLAND 

way  for  more  capacious  structures.  They  were  build- 
ing a  bridge  at  Vauxhall,  and  I  remember  the  half- 
spans  of  the  iron  arches  lying  about,  ready  to  be  used 
on  the  stone  piers.  A  superb  level  bridge  of  granite 
was  in  course  of  construdion,  called  the  Strand  Bridge, 
and  I  was  lifted  up  to  get  a  view  of  it  from  between 
the  stone  balusters  of  Westminster  Bridge.  It  was  not 
yet  baptized  by  the  name  of  Waterloo,  for  the  good 
reason  that  the  famous  battle  had  not  yet  been  fought, 
as  Napoleon  was  still  living  in  retirement  at  his  coun- 
try residence  on  the  island  of  Elba. 
By  the  river  side  immediately  below  the  Tower  of 
London  was  the  district  of  St.  Katharine's,  as  vile  a 
quarter  as  could  be  found  anywhere  in  or  near  Lon- 
don. Here  newly-returned  sailors  were  taken  in  and 
done  for,  emerging  penniless,  and  through  the  laby- 
rinthian  narrow  ways  no  well-dressed  person  dared 
venture  after  dark.  In  the  olden  time  it  must  have 
been  a  place  of  good  repute,  or  otherwise  the  Hos- 
pital and  Chapel  of  St.  Katharine  would  hardly  have 
been  built  there.  This  was  an  institution  endowed  as 
an  asylum  for  aged  ladies  who  had  been  in  the  service 
of  the  Queen,  and  whose  reduced  circumstances  re- 
quired that  a  suitable  refuge  should  be  provided 
where  they  could  pass  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in 
comparative  ease  and  comfort.  The  whole  region  de- 
teriorated gradually,  till  it  became  such  an  utter  abom- 
ination that  nothing  short  of  total  obliteration  could 

[  19] 


REMINISCENCES 

be  devised  as  a  remedy.  A  St.  Katharine's  Dock  Com- 
pany was  organized,  the  houses  pulled  down,  the  earth 
on  which  they  had  rested  scooped  out  and  the  water 
of  the  river  let  in.  In  place  of  the  old  endowed  hos- 
pital removed,  a  new  one  was  erected  on  the  east  side 
of  the  Regent's  Park,  a  Gothic  chapel  in  the  centre 
and  the  dwellings  symmetrically  placed  on  either  side, 
the  whole  forming  three  sides  of  an  open  court. 
A  little  higher  up  stream  on  the  Southwark  side,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  old  church  of  St.  Saviour's, 
just  above  London  Bridge,  there  must  have  been  in 
former  times  many  structures  of  considerable  architec- 
tural pretensions,  judging  from  the  numerous  frag- 
ments that  I  remember  well  but  which  have  since 
been  destroyed.  My  interest  in  such  objects  induced 
me  to  search  for  them  among  narrow  and  crooked 
lanes.  A  fire  which  occurred  in  one  of  the  large  ware- 
houses, which  threw  down  the  roof  and  front  wall, 
disclosed  to  view  in  the  end  wall  a  circular  window 
with  beautiful  Gothic  tracery.  When  I  made  known 
this  find  to  the  eminent  engraver,  George  Cooke,  he 
sent  his  son  Edward  (afterwards  the  Royal  Academi- 
cian), to  make  a  careful  drawing  of  it,  from  which  he 
engraved  the  plate  in  his  London  and  its  J'icinity. 
He  made  also  a  beautiful  plate  for  the  same  work  of 
the  excavations  for  the  St.  Katharine's  Dock. 
The  region  known  as  Beigravia,  at  the  west  end,  was, 
as  I  remember  it,  a  vast  treeless  plain  of  meadow  land, 

[  ^o] 


ENGLAND 

extending  north  and  west  from  Knightsbridge  and 
Sloane  Street,  and  so  far  east  as  almost  to  reach  the 
garden  wall  of  Buckingham  House.  It  was  known  in 
its  entirety  as  the  "Five  Fields,"  and  was  crossed  by 
a  country  road  called  the  King's  Road,  a  high  bank 
of  earth  with  a  ditch  on  each  side  of  it,  the  latter 
mostly  dry.  At  one  place  alongside  the  road  was  a 
pond  of  water  that  used  to  be  crowded  most  of  the 
time  by  boys  bathing,  myself  among  them  in  my  day. 
It  was  the  only  place  available  for  that  pastime  except 
the  Serpentine  in  Hyde  Park,  where  it  was  not  per- 
mitted until  after  dark  in  the  evening. 
But  as  I  fear  this  long  talk  of  mine  about  the  London 
of  my  early  remembrance  is  becoming  tedious,  I  will 
bring  it  to  a  close,  although  there  is  much  more  I 
could  tell.  Those  were  the  days  when  flint,  steel,  and 
tinder  box  was  the  legitimate,  accepted  and  only  way 
of  obtaining  a  light.  A  few  crack-brained  people  were 
contending  that  it  was  perfectly  feasible  to  light  the 
streets  with  an  illuminating  gas,  conducted  through 
pipes,  and  to  convince  the  people  of  its  practicability 
they  kept  one  burner  going  at  Charing  Cross. 
Another  set,  equally  untrustworthy,  were  trying  to 
make  people  believe  that  vehicles  could  be  run  on 
iron  rails  to  advantage,  instead  of  on  good  old-fash- 
ioned roads,  and  could  be  drawn  along  by  steam- 
engines  instead  of  horses.  But  it  was  difficult  to  get 
people  to  credit  it. 

[21    ] 


REMINISCENCES 

Byron  sneered  that — 

.  .  .  soon 
Steam  engines  will  conduffi  us  to  the  moon. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  in  those  days  people  were  less 
annoyed  than  now  by  the  smoke.  With  only  a  third 
of  the  present  population,  they  had  much  less  than 
a  third  of  the  smoke.  The  dome  of  St.  Paul's  Cathe- 
dral could  then  be  seen  from  a  distance,  but  it  cannot 
now.  The  extensive  region  south  of  the  Euston  Road 
was  vegetable  garden-ground,  and  nearly  the  entire  dis- 
tance between  the  Whitechapel  and  Stepney  churches 
was  pasture-ground,  including  an  equal  distance  north 
and  south.  No  wonder  then  that  with  these  vast 
spaces  covered  with  smoke-producing  houses,  the  all- 
embracing  veil  continues  to  deepen.  This  boundless 
modern  Babylon  is  dominated  by  the  noble  master- 
piece of  Sir  Christopher  Wren. 

The  great  fire  of  London  in  1666  was  commemorated 
by  the  erection  of  a  fluted  Doric  column  more  than 
two  hundred  feet  in  height,  which  stands  on  the  east 
side  of  the  street  that  was  the  northern  approach  to 
old  London  Bridge,  named  Fish  Street  Hill.  I  used 
to  read  an  inscription  cut  deep  into  the  stone,  not  far 
above  the  eyes  of  pedestrians,  and  running  all  around 
its  four  sides,  to  the  effect  that  the  conflagration  was 
intentionally  the  work  of  the  Papists.  It  is  there  no 
longer,  having  been  obliterated  by  order  of  the  au- 

[22] 


ENGLAND 

thorities.  It  was  this  inscription  that  inspired  Alex- 
ander Pope  to  write  the  couplet:  — 

There  London's  column  pointing  to  the  skies, 
Like  a  tall  bully  rears  its  head  and  lies. 

The  almost  total  destruction  of  the  old  city  by  fire  af- 
forded a  fine  opportunity  for  rebuilding  it  on  a  grand 
scale  worthy  of  a  great  metropolis.  Sir  Christopher 
Wren  submitted  a  plan  to  this  end,  with  two  spacious 
streets  running  eastward  from  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  and 
furnishing  each  owner  with  a  lot  far  superior  in  location 
to  the  one  he  had  held  before  the  fire.  The  second 
great  avenue  provided  room  upon  a  broad  street  for 
as  many  additional  buildings  as  now  have  frontage 
upon  Cheapside  and  the  Poultry.  But  the  narrow- 
minded  citizens  were  obstinate,  and  each  shopkeeper 
refused  to  have  any  other  than  the  exact  spot  he  had 
occupied  before,  in  no  matter  how  crooked  and  narrow 
a  lane,  or  inaccessible  a  nook  in  a  no-thoroughfare 
court.  They  verified  the  words  of  the  poet:  — 

And  there's  St.  Paul's,  that's  like  a  foolscap  crown 
On  a  fool's  head,  and  that  is  London  town. 

Connected  with  this  ground  plan  for  the  new  city  of 
the  great  architect  was  his  design  for  St.  Paul's  Cathe- 
dral, intended  to  be  viewed  directly  in  front,  present- 
ing when  seen  in  its  entirety  a  superb  pyramidal  mass. 
I  have  in  my  collection  also  an  engraving  of  another 

[23] 


REMINISCENCES 

grand  scheme  for  the  embellishment  of  London  which 
was  never  carried  out,  the  Palace  of  Whitehall  as  it 
would  have  appeared  if  completed  in  accordance  with 
the  design  made  by  Inigo  Jones  for  James  the  First. 
Within  this  magnificent  pile  of  architecture  was  to 
have  been  a  circular  court,  enriched  with  sculpture 
and  adorned  with  a  central  fountain.  Another  old 
print  shows  the  only  part  of  the  architect's  plan  which 
was  added  by  the  king  to  Cardinal  Wolsey's  palace, 
the  Banqueting  Hall,  together  with  the  old  Whitehall 
Gate  near  by. 


[  24] 


CHAPTER      II 

tfhe  Peace  Jubilees — 1814  and  1815 

HE  excitement  in  London  over  the  peace 
that  had  been  conquered  from  France  by 
the  allied  powers  of  Europe  was  so  fervid, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  one  who  had  wit- 
nessed the  jubilation  to  forget  it,  and  what  I  saw  re- 
mains indelibly  impressed  on  my  memory,  although 
I  was  only  a  child,  six  years  old.  It  continued  through 
several  days,  but  the  greatest  display  was  reserved  for 
the  last,  when  it  culminated  in  one  intensified  burst 
on  a  single  night,  the  grand  finale  of  the  whole.  By 
this  time  everybody  must  have  been  utterly  exhausted, 
both  those  who  made  and  those  who  witnessed  the 
successive  shows. 

The  first  of  the  scenes  that  I  remember  was  a  fleet 
of  ships  on  the  Serpentine  in  Hyde  Park,  viewed 
from  the  sloping  ground  on  the  north  shore.  I  was 
next  led  through  the  grove  of  trees,  under  and  against 
the  embankment  that  holds  back  that  large  body  of 
water,  and  the  winding  paths  were  bordered  by  all 
kinds  of  tempting  attractions,  in  charge  of  very  noisy 
proprietors.  One  of  these,  a  woman,  darted  forward, 
obstructing  the  narrow  way,  and  shook  a  bag  in  my 
face,  crying,  "Now,  my  pretty  dear,  take  a  dip  in  my 

[  25] 


REMINISCENCES 

lucky  bag;  all  prizes  and  no  blanks;  only  a  penny!" 
And  thus  as  we  walked  on  amid  the  numerous  rivals 
that  lined  the  path  on  both  sides,  all  were  vociferously 
importuning  the  passers-by  for  custom.  Then  as  now, 
a  stream  of  water  flowed  through  this  pleasant  dell, 
fed  by  the  overflow  from  the  Serpentine,  but  at  that 
time  it  widened  into  an  ornamental  basin,  called  by 
the  boys,  from  its  shape,  "  Leg-of- Mutton  Pond." 
Where  it  narrowed,  it  passed  under  a  one-arched 
bridge,  over  which  ran  a  road  reserved  for  equestrians. 
It  then  broadened  again  into  a  second,  larger  pond 
before  flowing  under  the  three-arched  bridge  at  Rotten 
Row,  where  a  dam  held  back  the  water  so  as  to  form 
these  two  ponds,  which  are  now  filled  up.  From  here 
it  flowed  to  and  under  Knightsbridge,  a  little  stream 
not  more  than  ten  feet  wide  and  a  foot  deep,  yet  the 
damming  of  this  insignificant  rivulet  has  made  the 
beautiful  sheet  known  as  the  Serpentine.  Knights- 
bridge  looks  little  enough  like  a  bridge  nowadays,  but 
in  the  old  time  I  used  to  gaze  from  the  parapet  of 
the  bridge  on  the  north  side  of  the  way  into  the  run- 
ning water,  as  it  pursued  its  course  to  join  the  Thames 
at  Chelsea. 

We  went  through  the  Green  Park,  where  great  pre- 
parations were  in  progress,  and  then  through  St.  James' 
Park,  where  I  saw  building  a  triumphal  arch  across 
the  road  on  the  north  side  of  the  Mall,  not  far  from 
its  approach  to  Constitution  Hill.  Men  were  also  at 

[  26] 


ENGLAND 

work  finishing  the  pagoda  on  the  middle  of  the  Chi- 
nese bridge,  and  covered  galleries  were  creeling,  three 
stories  high,  at  every  coign  of  Vantage.  Carpenters  were 
busy  everywhere,  for  all  was  of  wood. 
At  night  the  streets  were  ablaze  with  illuminations, 
but  as  this  was  before  the  use  of  gas,  little  oil  lamps  of 
wrinkled  glass  of  various  colours  had  to  suffice,  some- 
times emblazoning  mottoes  suitable  to  the  occasion. 
An  official  of  the  newly  restored  Bourbon  dynasty 
made  an  exceptionally  brilliant  display,  as  of  course 
became  him,  and  among  his  inscriptions  were  promi- 
nent the  words,  "Peace  and  Concord."  A  party  of 
British  sailors,  gloriously  drunk,  mistook  the  last  word, 
and  read  it  "Conquered."  Swearing  the  customary 
oath  of  that  day,  involving  disaster  to  their  eyes,  they 
roared  that  England  never  had  been  conquered,  and 
proceeded  to  demolish  not  only  the  offensive  illumi- 
nation, but  every  pane  of  glass  in  the  Frenchman's 
house-front. 

Opposite  where  I  lived  (and  where  I  was  born)  in 
Queen  Street,  Golden  Square,  was  a  house  occupied 
by  French  royalist  fugitives,  and  from  the  windows 
of  each  of  the  three  stories,  large  white  flags  glittering 
with  fleurs-de-lis  in  shining  gold  hung  in  a  flood  of 
light  as  bright  as  multitudinous  tallow  candles  could 
make  it.  I  thought  it  a  dream  of  dazzling  beauty 
realized,  and  can  fancy  I  see  it  now.  Everywhere  the 
streets  were  filled  with  the  noisy,  jubilant  crowd,  and 

[  27  ] ' 


REMINISCENCES 

among  the  most  uproarious  were  the  butchers  with 
their  "marrow-bones  and  cleavers."  These  were  a  rec- 
ognized institution,  now  obsolete  apparently,  for  I 
have  not  heard  of  it  of  late  years.  The  butchers 
marched  in  a  line  in  single  file  along  the  curb,  and 
each  in  turn  struck  his  cleaver  a  blow  with  the  mar- 
row-bone, making  a  parody  on  a  peal  of  church  bells. 
In  burlesque  of  the  wedding-chimes,  the  "marrow- 
bones and  cleavers"  would  sometimes  ring  their 
changes  in  front  of  the  house  of  some  newly-married 
couple,  until  they  had  extorted  a  guerdon — to  leave 
them  in  peace. 

The  great  climax  at  length  arrived,  the  crowning  fes- 
tivity— the  sham  naval  battle  on  the  Serpentine,  the 
ascent  of  Sadler's  balloon  from  in  front  of  the  Buck- 
ingham House,  the  unveiling  of  the  Temple  of  Con- 
cord, and  the  grand  pyrotechnical  display  as  a  finale. 
As  one  could  not  be  in  all  three  parks  at  the  same 
time,  each  sightseer  had  to  be  content  with  a  third  of 
the  shows,  and  the  best  of  them  was  in  the  Green 
Park,  where  had  been  erected  the  beautiful  Temple 
of  Concord.  It  was  there  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  taken  by  my  father,  for  from  the  same  spot  could 
also  be  seen  the  balloon  ascension  and  the  fireworks. 
During  the  inflating,  the  big  balloon  swayed  restlessly 
from  side  to  side  as  if  impatient  to  be  off,  and  when 
it  arose,  a  little  before  sunset,  the  wind  carried  it  in  a 
northeasterly  direction.  While  it  was  well  in  view  and 


ENGLAND 

apparently  above  St.  James'  Street,  streams  of  sand 
were  poured  out  from  the  car,  which  I  was  told  was 
gold  dust,  and  so  it  looked  in  the  rays  of  the  evening 
sun. 

In  the  southeast  quarter  of  the  Green  Park  stood  a 
grim,  gray,  fortress-like  structure.  It  was  made,  how- 
ever, only  of  painted  cloth,  and  after  dark  at  the  firing 
of  a  gun  it  all  fell  away,  to  the  surprise  of  the  crowd, 
and  disclosed  the  gorgeous  Temple  of  Peace,  resplen- 
dent in  colour,  brightness  and  beauty.  Large  in  dimen- 
sions as  it  was,  it  revolved  slowly  and  exposed  suc- 
cessively, to  the  view  of  all,  its  four  sides  enriched  with 
beautiful  transparent  pictures  lit  from  behind.  Those 
filling  the  panels  of  the  lower  story  were  the  largest, 
being  each  thirty  feet  long,  and  were  painted  by  the 
best  artists  of  the  day  for  the  style  of  art  required. 
One  was  by  Thomas  Stothard,  R.  A.,  and  three  by 
Henry  Howard,  R.  A. 

Mrs.  Bray,  who  in  1851  published  her  life  of  Thomas 
Stothard,  who  was  her  first  husband's  father,  tells 
about  the  painting  of  his  transparency  for  the  Temple 
of  Concord.  It  represented  among  other  things  Bri- 
tannia in  a  chariot  drawn  by  four  white  horses.  They 
had  neglected  to  inform  the  artist  that  the  building 
was  to  revolve,  or  which  way  it  would  move,  conse- 
quently it  so  happened  that  Stothard  arranged  his 
composition  the  reverse  of  what  it  should  have  been. 
It  would  have  been  an  awkward  circumstance  to  show 

[29] 


REMINISCENCES 

Britannia's  progress  retrograde  and  her  horses  moving 
tail  foremost,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  place 
the  picture  face  inwards  to  reverse  it,  thus  weakening 
the  colour  effect  considerably.  Mrs.  Bray  says  the  pic- 
ture was  painted  in  a  spacious  apartment  in  the  King's 
Mews  near  Charing  Cross  (the  site  of  the  present 
Trafalgar  Square),  because  Stothard  had  not  conven- 
ience for  so  large  a  work  at  his  home  in  Newman 
Street. 

She  makes  a  singular  mistake  in  stating  that  the  Tem- 
ple of  Concord  was  in  Hyde  Park.  I  know  positively 
that  it  was  in  the  Green  Park,  a  little  north  of  St. 
James'  Park,  for  I  saw  it  and  remember  it  as  distinctly 
as  if  it  were  last  week.  More  than  forty  years  ago  she 
wrote  as  follows:  "Although  thousands  have  passed 
away  since  the  event  occurred,  yet  there  are  many 
still  surviving  who  can  remember  the  grand  National 
Jubilee  of  1814."  Yes,  true  enough,  for  I  too  survive 
even  yet,  although  millions  have  gone  over  to  the 
majority  since  she  wrote  those  words.  In  1863  my 
daughter  and  I  took  tea  and  spent  a  delightful  evening 
with  Mrs.  Bray.  She  displayed  remarkable  energy  and 
vivacity,  and  although  seventy  years  old,  sang  for  us 
to  her  own  accompaniment,  and  insisted  upon  pulling 
out  unaided  a  bottom  bureau-drawer,  heavy  with  bun- 
dles of  papers.  She  was  looking  for  some  drawings  of 
Stothard's  which  she  wanted  to  show  me,  when  she 
learned  that  I  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  that 

[30] 


TEMPLE  OF  CONCORD,  GREEN   PARK,  1814 
Britannia :  transparency  by  Thomas  Stothard,  R.  A. 


ENGLAND 

great  artist.  Great  he  was,  combining  in  his  work  the 
refined  grace  of  Raphael  with  the  splendour  of  effecT: 
and  colour  of  Rubens. 

After  the  unveiling  of  the  Temple  of  Concord  came 
the  display  of  fireworks  in  a  semi-circular  enclosure 
extending  from  the  front  of  Buckingham  House  to 
the  eastern  boundary  of  the  Green  Park.  The  rockets 
went  up  in  flights  of  fifty  in  a  rush,  and  alternating 
with  them  the  set  pieces  were  fired  off.  The  beauty  of 
these  last  was  destroyed  to  my  mind  and  only  inflided 
torture  upon  me,  for  somebody  told  me  that  a  French- 
man was  burnt  up  in  each  one  set  off. 
The  fireworks  were  well  placed  for  being  seen  by  the 
greatest  number.  The  view  was  good,  not  only  from 
the  Green  Park  but  also  from  the  open  spaces  of  St. 
James'  Park,  and  especially  from  the  Chinese  bridge. 
Unfortunately  those  on  the  bridge  had  a  special  dis- 
play of  their  own,  not  by  request  as  the  announce- 
ments read,  but  by  accident.  The  wooden  pagoda 
caught  fire,  and  all  but  the  two  lower  stories  were  con- 
sumed before  it  could  be  extinguished.  This  I  could 
not  see  from  where  I  was  posted,  any  more  than  I 
could  witness  the  naval  battle  on  the  Serpentine, 
meant,  I  think,  to  represent  the  battle  of  Lake  Erie. 
Of  the  two  hostile  fleets  one  was  destroyed  and  of 
course  it  was  not  the  English,  notwithstanding  the 
despatch  of  the  American  Commodore  Perry,  "We 
have  met  the  enemy  and  they  are  ours."  Fable  is  as 

[31 J 


REMINISCENCES 

good  as  fad;  so  that  the  people  are  pleased,  and  it  was 
then  more  easy  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  pop- 
ulace than  it  is  now. 

The  fireworks  were  the  close  of  the  show,  and  with 
that  my  eyes  closed  also,  and  I  was  carried  home  in 
the  arms  of  a  family  friend.  A  few  evenings  later  my 
father  took  me  with  him  again  to  the  same  spot,  and 
the  contrast  with  what  I  had  last  seen  there  was  most 
depressing.  "Darkness  there  and  nothing  more." 
Later  there  rose  occasion  for  another  Peace  Celebra- 
tion, when  Bonaparte  was  again  overthrown,  at  Water- 
loo. This  jubilee  was  on  a  reduced  scale  compared 
with  the  one  of  the  preceding  year,  and  its  chief  feat- 
ure was  the  christening  of  the  new  bridge  over  the 
Thames,  until  then  known  as  the  Strand  Bridge. 
This  magnificent  structure  of  granite  was  afterwards 
and  forever  to  be  called  Waterloo  Bridge;  the  great 
bridge  and  the  great  battle  were  to  bear  the  same 
name.  The  ceremony  was  performed  on  both  land  and 
water  with  all  the  imposing  pomp  and  state  befitting 
so  important  an  occasion.  A  prominent  figure  every- 
where of  course  was  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 
As  by  this  time  I  had  arrived  at  the  mature  age  of 
seven,  I  felt  myself  entitled  to  escape  from  leading 
strings  and  make  for  the  sights  alone.  Accordingly,  I 
might  have  been  seen  at  this  Waterloo  celebration, 
threading  my  way  among  the  legs  of  the  horses  that 
were  crowded  together  at  the  junction  of  the  bridge 

[32] 


ENGLAND 

entrance  and  the  Strand.  I  saw  little  enough  in  the 
densely  packed  crowd,  my  stature  being  that  of  my 
seven  years,  but  heard  plenty,  for  the  sound  of  boom- 
ing cannon  and  braying  trumpets  penetrated  every- 
where. This  finished  the  public  rejoicings  conducted 
by  the  government  upon  the  restoration  of  the  old 
conservative  system,  which  had  been  universally  pre- 
valent before  Europe  was  startled  by  the  upheaval  of 
the  first  French  Revolution. 


[33] 


CHAPTER      III 

The  Rod 

URING  the  nearly  ninety  years  of  my  life 
no  greater  progress  has  been  made  in  any 
direction  whatever  than  in  the  methods  em- 
ployed in  teaching  and  training  children.  As  I  myself 
was  one  of  the  sufferers  from  the  old  system,  I  may 
be  pardoned  for  devoting  a  short  chapter  to  recording 
facts  that  can  scarcely  be  realized  in  these  days  of 
advanced  thought,  which  have  so  fully  recognized  the 
absolute  importance  of  the  most  careful  treatment  of 
childhood. 

The  Inferno  of  Dante  is  a  description  of  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  guilty,  but  what  follows  relates  to  the 
wanton  infliction  of  pain  on  innocent  helpless  infancy, 
the  result  of  the  old  absurd  doctrine  that  "to  spare 
the  rod  is  to  spoil  the  child."  The  ways  and  degrees 
of  suffering,  both  mental  and  physical,  are  various. 
Jove  chained  Prometheus  on  Caucasus  and  sent  a 
vulture  to  gnaw  at  his  liver.  This  must  have  been 
very  trying,  not  merely  in  its  severity  but  in  its  dura- 
tion. The  Holy  Inquisition  is  credited  with  remarkable 
ingenuity  in  devising  contrivances  for  extorting  by 
torture  any  answers  it  desired  to  certain  questions. 
But  though  Mother  Ward's  methods  of  torturing  the 

[34] 


ENGLAND 

infantile  pupils  of  her  dame-school  were  less  demon- 
strative, they  were  no  less  effective.  I  was  one  of  her 
pupils  and  know  all  about  it.  We  little  ones  sat  in  a 
row  on  a  bench  without  a  supporting  back,  and  were 
ordered  to  sit  upright.  If,  after  prolonged  sitting, 
fatigue  of  the  spine  caused  the  weaker  ones  to  droop 
in  the  least,  down  came  a  sharp  cane  stroke  on  the 
poor  little  knuckles  without  word  of  warning,  and  a 
keener  pain  diverted  for  a  time  the  attention  of  the 
sufferer  from  the  dull  ache  of  the  weary  back.  The 
dame's  vulture  eyes  glared  over  the  top  rim  of  her 
spectacles,  and  all  the  eyes  of  Argus  could  not  equal 
the  detective  vigilance  of  hers.  I  frequently  experienced 
this  exquisite  agony  and  wondered  in  what  I  could  have 
transgressed.  It  was  probably  inflicted  on  the  then 
prevalent  principle  laid  down  by  King  Solomon,  and 
certainly  the  rod  was  not  spared  with  or  without 
cause. 

Why  children  were  sent  to  such  places  I  cannot  un- 
derstand, unless  it  was  to  get  them  out  of  the  way, 
but  it  may  be  assumed  that  they  were  also  to  be 
taught  something.  All  we  learned  there  was  what  each 
of  the  five  vowels  spelled  preceded  by  the  consonant 
£,  and  also  what  "our  god-fathers  and  god-mothers 
had  promised  and  vowed"  in  our  names.  "First  that 
we  should  renounce  the  devil  and  all  his  works,  the 
pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world  and  all  the 
sinful  lusts  of  the  flesh."  I  have  not  yet  discovered 

[35] 


REMINISCENCES 

what  earthly  use  (or  heavenly  either)  there  could  be 
in  cramming  into  the  mind  of  a  child  stuff  so  incom- 
prehensible to  it.  But  fortunately  all  things  have  an 
end,  and  the  long,  long  weary  days  of  that  dame- 
school  terminated  for  me  at  last. 

I  was  next  promoted  to  a  school  kept  in  the  top  story 
of  a  tall  house  in  Brewer  Street  opposite  Bridle  Lane, 
and  at  the  corner  was  a  coal  and  wood  store   kept 
by   a  famous   man,  Tom  Crib,  the   pugilist,  a  brute 
greatly  venerated  by  high  and  low  as  the  Champion 
of  England.  On  my  first  day  at  this  academy,  I  saw 
a  little  friend    of  mine  who  was   very   dear   to  me, 
standing  on  a  form  with  a  chain  attached  to  a  band 
around  his  slender  ankle,  and  at  the  end  of  the  chain 
a  wooden  block.  The  chain  was  carved  out  of  wood 
and  the  links  were  large.  What  this  punishment  was 
for  I  did  not  know,  but  I  saw  that  he  had  to  walk  the 
length  of  the  bench  a  few  times  back  and  forth,  drag- 
ging the  block  after  him.  The  sight  shocked  me  and 
my  heart  seemed  to  rise  to  my  throat.  I  was  the  more 
pained,  no  doubt,  because  I  was  so  fond  of  this  little 
boy,  who  was  a  very  gentle,  affectionate  child.  I  used 
to  wonder  over  his  talent  for  drawing  animals,  and  he 
had  the  singular  habit  of  making  sounds  similar  to  the 
voice  of  the  animal  he  was  at  the  time  engaged  in 
delineating.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  help  it,  as  if 
he  were  carried  away  by  a  sort  of  inspired  enthusiasm. 
The  surprise  and  indignation  I  felt  made  me  regard 

[36] 


ENGLAND 

this  school  as  worse  than  the  other,  and  I  determined 
I  would  not  go  to  it.  Next  day  I  refused  to  return,  so 
I  was  carried  there.  I  remember  going  up-stairs  heels 
foremost,  borne  ignominiously  by  four  of  the  school- 
girls, each  taking  a  quarter  of  me.  As  soon  as  I  was 
forced  into  the  room,  I  was  marched  to  a  dark  closet 
and  bolted  in.  I  don't  remember  learning  anything  at 
this  school. 

My  third  and  last  experience  was  with  a  clergyman, 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Williams  by  name,  by  character  a  sav- 
age. This  brute  was  thin,  had  a  keen,  sharp  black  eye, 
and  wore  his  hair  powdered,  the  pendant  queue  be- 
hind making  the  collar  of  his  black  dress-coat  white 
with  the  hair  powder;  he  had  knee  breeches,  black 
silk  stockings,  and  large  silver  buckles  on  his  shoes. 
These  shoes  were  thin-soled  so  that  you  never  heard 
him,  when  he  came  up  behind  you  and  began  to 
slash  your  head,  ears  and  shoulders  with  the  cane 
which  he  always  carried  about  with  him,  ready  for  in- 
stant use.  One  morning  when  I  was  intent  on  my 
writing  copy,  "all  of  a  sudden  miserable  pain  surprised 
me,"  and  the  wretch  was  lashing  me  over  the  head 
furiously  with  his  stick, — what  for  I  never  knew. 
Naturally  I  threw  up  my  hands  over  my  head,  and 
they  received  part  of  the  punishment.  I  made  no  com- 
plaint at  home,  but  my  mother  noticed  great  welts  on 
the  backs  of  both  little  hands,  and  having  learned  the 
cause  went  to  see  the  reverend  gentleman  about  it. 

[37] 


REMINISCENCES 

Two  of  the  scholars,  I  remember,  were  respectively 
sons  of  Fores  of  the  print  shop  at  the  corner  of  Sack- 
ville  Street  and  Piccadilly,  and  Leuschars  of  Picca- 
dilly opposite  St.  James*  Church,  and  at  both  places 
I  observe  the  same  names  still  after  a  lapse  of  more 
than  eighty  years. 

This  school  was  in  Air  Street,  on  what  is  now  the 
middle  of  the  road  of  the  Regent's  Quadrant,  for  that 
great  improvement,  the  making  of  Regent  Street,  had 
not  yet  been  commenced.  When  the  opening  of  this 
new  street  began  to  be  talked  of,  and  it  was  decided 
that  the  course  of  the  proposed  line  would  pass 
through  the  reverend  school-master's  property,  he  set 
to  work  with  all  diligence  to  improve  it.  A  strong 
force  of  carpenters  soon  covered  the  open  yard  with 
a  new  room  lit  by  skylights.  People  said  this  was  done 
solely  to  extort  enlarged  profits  in  shape  of  damages. 
As  soon  as  the  building  was  condemned  and  Mr. 
Williams  had  obtained  a  settlement  for  it,  he  sold  the 
good  will  of  the  school  to  the  Rev.  Philip  Le  Briton, 
a  man  of  milder  type  than  his  predecessor,  and  he 
removed  it  to  Poland  Street.  But  my  sufferings  under 
my  first  three  tyrants  had  been  so  acute  that  nothing 
could  obliterate  my  intense  disgust  at  the  whole  school 
system,  so  that  in  a  little  over  two  years  after  my 
father's  death,  my  mother  had  to  let  me  have  my  own 
way  and  leave  the  detested  regime  for  good  and  all. 
For  good  it  proved.  From  the  time  of  my  emancipa- 

[38] 


ENGLAND 

tion,  at  the  age  of  ten  years,  I  became  diligent  in 
study  from  the  love  of  it,  and  have  so  continued  all 
my  life  since. 

That  this  brutal  method  of  bringing  up  children  and 
young  people  generally  is  happily  falling  into  disuse,  is 
comforting  to  know,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  ex- 
posure of  its  shameful  barbarities  by  Dickens,  Huxley 
and  others  has  exercised  a  wholesome  influence.  But 
not  all  the  fossils  are  dead  yet.  There  are  some  who 
would  like  to  see  a  progress  backward  to  "the  good 
old  times,"  as  witness  the  following  advertisement  cut 
from  a  London  newspaper  within  a  decade;  "Birch 
Rods. — Small  and  handy,  is.,  by  post,  well  packed. 
Ida  Weston,  care  of  Mrs.  Taylor,  8  Hawthorne  Ter- 
race, Canterbury." 

A  friend  out  of  curiosity  ordered  one,  and  in  due 
time  it  arrived,  accompanied  by  the  following  note: 
"Miss  Weston  encloses  one  rod  herewith.  It  must  be 
steeped  in  water  to  restore  its  suppleness,  and  the 
handle  may  be  wrapped  in  ribbon.  Miss  Weston  ad- 
vertises at  a  loss,  but  with  a  view  to  restore  the  rod 
and  reform  the  present  untamed  race  of  English  boys 
and  girls." 

In  Christ's  Hospital,  London,  commonly  called  the 
"Blue  Coat  School,"  punishment  used  to  be  heavy 
and  frequent.  The  monitors  had  license  to  chas- 
tise freely,  with  or  without  cause.  Charles  Lamb,  who 
was  educated  there,  writes,  "I  have  been  called  out 

[39] 


REMINISCENCES 

of  my  bed  and  waked  for  the  purpose  in  the  coldest 
winter  nights, — and  this  not  once,  but  night  after 
night, — in  my  shirt,  to  receive  the  discipline  of  a 
leather  thong,  with  eleven  other  sufferers,  because  it 
pleased  my  callow  overseer,  when  there  had  been  any 
talking  heard  after  we  had  gone  to  bed,  to  make  the 
last  six  beds  in  the  dormitory  where  the  youngest 
children  slept,  answerable  for  an  offence  they  neither 
dared  to  commit  nor  had  any  power  to  hinder." 
These  chastisements  had  to  be  borne  with  patience, 
and  the  training  had  the  effed:  of  rendering  the  youths 
hardy,  but  brutal.  The  formal  punishment  for  runa- 
ways was,  for  the  first  offence,  fetters;  for  the  second, 
imprisonment  in  a  cell  large  enough  only  for  the  cul- 
prit to  lie  at  full  length  upon  some  straw  with  a  blan- 
ket, a  glimmer  of  light  being  admitted  through  a 
small  window.  The  confinement  was  solitary — the 
prisoner  seeing  only  the  porter  who  brought  his  bread 
and  water,  or  the  beadle  who  came  twice  a  week  to 
take  him  out  for  an  airing  and  a  whipping. 
As  a  general  thing  schoolmasters  punished  their  boys, 
not  for  any  offence  or  unwillingness  or  incapacity  to 
learn,  but  on  the  theory  of  the  Hebrew  king.  Eras- 
mus bears  witness  that  this  was  the  principle  on  which 
he  was  flogged,  although  he  was  a  favourite  with  his 
master,  but  the  discipline  nearly  "spoiled  the  child," 
for  his  health  and  spirits  were  broken  by  it  and  he 
began  to  dislike  his  studies.  He  says  that  whenever 

[40] 


ENGLAND 

he  dined  with  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  one  or  two  boys 
were  served  up  to  be  flogged  by  way  of  dessert.  On  one 
of  these  occasions  the  Dean  called  up  a  meek,  gentle 
boy,  ten  years  old,  who  had  lately  been  earnestly  com- 
mended to  his  care  by  a  tender  mother, — ordered 
him  to  be  flogged  for  some  pretended  fault  till  the 
victim  was  fainting  under  the  scourge.  "Not  that  he 
deserved  this,"  said  the  Dean  to  Erasmus  while  it 
was  going  on,  "but  it  is  fitting  to  humble  him." 
This  flogging  practice  was  not  restricted  to  young 
children  and  boys;  it  was  permitted  by  the  statutes  of 
many  colleges,  and  was  a  favourite  recreation  of  the 
deans,  tutors  and  censors  of  the  day.  Dr.  Potter,  of 
Trinity  College,  flogged  a  collegian  arrived  at  man's 
estate  and  wearing  a  sword  by  his  side.  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  in  his  Memoir  of 'Milton ,  says,  "I  am  ashamed 
to  relate  what  I  fear  is  true,  that  Milton  was  one  of 
the  last  students  in  either  university  that  suffered 
the  public  indignity  of  corporal  correction."  There 
is  a  tradition  that  Dr.  Johnson  himself  was  scourged 
over  the  buttery  hatch  at  Oxford.  Well  did  the 
French-  Commissioners  remark  in  their  report  to  their 
government,  that  the  English  schools  have  "a  kind 
of  punishment  which  we  do  not  think  we  ought  to 
envy — the  corporal  punishment  which  is  reserved 
among  us  to  children  in  the  nursery.  The  Rod  is  one 
of  those  ancient  English  traditions  which  survive  be- 
cause they  have  survived.  A  foreigner  can  hardly  con- 

[41  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

ceive  the  perseverance  with  which  English  teachers 
cling  to  this  old  and  degrading  custom.  One  is  aston- 
ished at  seeing  English  masters  remove  a  garment 
which  the  prudery  of  their  language  hesitates  to 
name." 

Thus  much  about  masculine  teachers.  What  shall  be 
said  of  the  ways  of  the  gentler  sex?  Two  instances  will 
be  sufficient,  one  illustrating  the  treatment  of  the 
scholars  of  a  charity  school  of  their  own  by  wealthy 
ladies,  the  other  of  female  domination  over  young 
ladies  moving  in  the  well-to-do  circles  of  society,  both 
realistic  pictures  drawn  faithfully  from  life. 
The  charity  school  was  established  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  last  century  by  the  wife  and  daughter  of  an 
earl,  and  as  the  names  of  the  family  and  the  locality 
are  not  essential  to  the  story  they  are  omitted.  "These 
ladies  provided  and  regulated  everything,  ruled  the 
teachers,  laid  down  and  enforced  the  laws,  and  the 
younger  one,  Lady  Maria,  superintended  all  the  pun- 
ishments, doing  a  great  deal  of  the  whipping  herself. 
The  Lady  Marjory  did  not  care  to  flog  us,  but  de- 
lighted to  make  her  maid  do  it;  and  I  have  seen  her 
stand  by  and  look  on  till  the  poor  girl  was  quite  ex- 
hausted by  the  exercise  of  flogging  a  number  of  kick- 
ing, squalling  youngsters,  both  boys  and  girls;  for 
the  ladies  flogged  indiscriminately,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  took  pleasure  in  so  doing.  The  school  was  in  the 
grounds,  but  some  distance  from  the  mansion,  which 

[42] 


ENGLAND 

was  one  of  the  finest  in  the  county.  From  our  win- 
dows we  could  see  the  arms  of  the  family  emblazoned 
on  the  great  doors — two  leopards,  with  golden  crowns 
upon  their  heads  and  a  shield  between  them.  My  lady 
the  Countess  was  a  very  handsome  woman  and  always 
finely  dressed,  but  we  were  very  much  afraid  of  her; 
she  whipped  without  mercy ;  once  she  had  the  whole 
school — twenty  boys  and  twenty  girls — up  for  pun- 
ishment, which  she  and  her  maid  administered,  and 
not  for  any  fault  committed. 

"The  school  was  an  old  building  called  the  Hermitage, 
built  by  a  wicked  earl  for  his  mistress.  It  had  not 
been  used  for  a  long  time,  and  on  the  present  earl's 
marriage  his  lady  took  a  fancy  to  establish  a  school 
there  for  the  sons  and  daughters  of  some  of  the  ten- 
antry, and  orphans  who  were  to  be  clothed  and  edu- 
cated at  her  expense.  We  were  dressed  in  uniform  and 
my  lady  chose  it  extremely  ugly,  for  it  was  a  whim  of 
hers  that  her  girls  should  not  be  like  those  of  any 
other  school.  Her  daughters  were  the  mistresses  when 
I  was  there,  for  when  they  grew  up  their  mother  gave 
it  up  to  them,  and  they  proved  themselves  worthy 
successors  to  her,  I  can  tell  you. 

"The  great  event  of  each  day  was  what  we  called  'pun- 
ishment hour,'  which  was  from  four  to  five  in  the 
afternoon.  When  gentlemen  visitors  were  at  the  man- 
sion the  ladies  would  come  in  good  temper  with  plea- 
sant faces,  but  sometimes  they  would  be  very  cross 

[43] 


REMINISCENCES 

and  ready  to  vent  on  us  all  the  annoyances  they  might 
have  met  with  at  home.  There  was  a  great  contrast 
between  the  two.  The  Lady  Marjory  was  fat  and 
sleepy  looking  like  her  father  the  earl,  with  light  hair 
and  blue  eyes;  the  Lady  Maria  was  slight  and  dark, 
with  eyes  like  a  hawk,  the  picture  of  her  mother  in 
features  as  well  as  temper.  Both  ladies  had  copied  the 
French  mode  of  dressing  from  their  cousin  Mademoi- 
selle Burgoyne,  from  Paris,  who  was  staying  at  the  cas- 
tle. They  used  to  come  to  the  school  daily  in  toilettes 
that  were  to  our  eyes  like  the  draperies  in  a  fairy  tale. 
The  feathers  and  flowers,  the  sparkling  jewelry,  and 
the  huge  scented  fans  they  carried  were  subjects  of 
daily  and  hourly  admiration  among  us.  All  the  bad 
marks  against  any  boy  or  girl  were  laid  before  their 
ladyships,  who  would  appoint  the  punishments  and  see 
them  carried  out.  Lady  Marjory  used  to  bring  her 
mother's  maid  with  her  to  do  the  whipping,  taking 
her  to  task  severely  for  the  awkward  manner  in  which 
she  sometimes  managed  the  business.  I  remember  one 
afternoon  her  giving  the  girl  two  or  three  sharp  cuts 
with  the  rod  for  not  administering  punishment  in  a 
sufficiently  smart  manner.  We  were  all  mustered  in 
school,  and  among  the  long  list  of  black  marks  there 
were  three  to  one  girl, — a  laundry  mark,  a  talking 
mark,  and  a  mark  for  cwant  of  respect  to  my  lady;' 
any  omission  of  duly  curtseying  to  or  saluting  our 
teachers  was  called  by  that  name. 

[44] 


ENGLAND 

"Betty  Brown,  the  girl  to  be  whipped,  was  ordered 
to  stand  out,  which  she  did,  looking  very  shamefaced. 
She  was  a  big,  tall  girl,  and  in  appearance  far  more 
robust  than  either  the  Lady  Maria  or  her  cousin. 
Betty  stood  before  the  party  till  Miss  Thomas,  the 
schoolmistress,  rose  and,  curtseying  to  the  ladies, 
read  out  the  punishment.  c  Betty  Brown  will  fetch 
the  rod/  my  lady  said;  and  the  girl  went,  colouring 
crimson  and  ready  to  cry.  When  she  came  back  she 
knelt,  as  was  the  custom,  and  presented  it,  and  Ma- 
demoiselle said  sharply,  'Kiss  it.'  Betty  kissed  it, 
looking  dreadfully  terrified  while  she  was  being  pre- 
pared for  flogging.  Joan  the  maid  stripped  her,  and 
she  was  made  to  fold  up  her  clothes  as  though  she 
were  going  to  bed,  while  we  all  sat  in  our  places  look- 
ing on,  not  allowed  to  move  or  speak.  When  she 
stood  ready  for  the  rod,  the  bell  was  rung  for  the 
dairy-woman, — a  great,  stout  person  who  had  the  en- 
viable task  of  horsing  us  when  we  were  to  be  birched. 
Joan  tucked  up  her  sleeves,  and,  receiving  the  rod 
from  the  Lady  Marjory,  with  a  profound  curtsey  pre- 
pared for  business.  But  Betty  was  not  going  to  be 
flogged  without  opposition;  she  was  a  big,  strong  girl, 
and  it  took  a  good  many  pairs  of  hands  to  get  her 
fairly  established  on  Dorothy's  back,  who  did  not  like 
her  office  at  all.  Once  there  and  the  girl's  hands  pin- 
ioned by  her  brawny  arms,  there  was  little  chance  of  the 
culprit  escaping,  for  Dorothy  was  as  strong  as  a  man. 

[45] 


REMINISCENCES 

"'Hold  that  girl's  feet/  was  Lady  Marjory's  next 
order,  'or  Joan  will  never  be  able  to  get  at  her.'  So 
Miss  Thomas  made  the  feet  fast,  and  then  Joan  be- 
gan. The  dreaded  rod  fell  swiftly  and  surely  on  the 
white  flesh,  raising  red  weals  in  all  directions.  If  Joan 
was  clumsy  she  was  energetic,  and  Betty  Brown  roared 
and  wrestled  under  the  operation  most  lustily;  but  for 
all  that  the  performance  did  not  satisfy  the  three  ladies. 
"'What  a  clumsy  creature!'  said  Mademoiselle;  'she 
hasn't  an  atom  of  grace.' 

"'Marjory  should  do  it  herself/  said  Lady  Maria; 
'one  can't  expect  everything  from  servants.' 
"'I  hate  such  violent  exercise,'  said  her  sister;  and 
then  turning  to  Joan,  'You  clumsy,  awkward  creature, 
you!  Have  I  not  shown  you  a  hundred  times  how  to 
use  the  rod?  Has  not  my  mother  shown  you?' 
"'Yes,  and  made  me  feel  it  too,'  said  the  girl  sulkily. 
'The  brat  kicks  so,  there's  no  doing  anything  properly/ 
"  Lady  Marjory  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  come 
nearer  to  the  girl  and  her  punisher  as  she  spoke,  and 
whether  by  accident  or  design  I  don't  know,  but  Joan, 
in  raising  her  arm  to  give  an  effective  blow,  happened 
to  touch  the  face  of  her  ladyship,  who  stood  behind 
her.  My  lady  then  forgot  she  did  not  like  violent 
exercise;  she  snatched  the  rod  from  the  servant's 
hand,  and,  poising  herself  in  an  attitude,  commenced 
heartily  lashing  the  girl  on  her  arms  and  neck  and 
wherever  she  could  get  an  opportunity  to  strike  her. 

[46] 


ENGLAND 

For  a  minute  Joan  was  too  astonished  to  resist;  but 
when  she  recovered  her  scattered  wits,  she  rushed 
round  the  room  with  the  lady  in  full  pursuit,  leaving 
Betty  Brown  shivering  and  smarting  on  her  uncom- 
fortable elevation. 

"The  ladies  not  only  whipped  us  girls,  but  they 
whipped  the  boys  too — but  Lady  Marjory  had  scru- 
ples of  modesty  about  it  and  declined.  Mademoiselle 
Burgoyne  introduced  many  new  ways  into  the  school: 
the  whippings  were  to  be  done  by  long,  regular,  sharp 
blows  counted  in  a  measured  manner,  and  when  sen- 
tenced to  a  whipping  we  had  to  kneel  and  say,  'May 
it  please  your  ladyship  to  give  me  so  many  blows  on 
account  of  my  great  fault;'  and  when  we  returned  the 
rod,  the  formula  was,  'I  thank  your  ladyship  humbly 
for  the  whipping  I  have  received;'  and  we  had  to  say 
it  without  sobbing  or  stuttering.  My  lady  whipped 
her  maids  and  her  pages,  and  my  lord  thrashed  his 
valet  and  his  grooms;  all  servants  were  amenable  to 
this  mode  of  punishment,  and  mothers  whipped  their 
grown-up  daughters.  It  would  have  rejoiced  the  heart 
of  Solomon  to  see  what  a  universal  following  his  ad- 
monition received." 

The  second  instance  referred  to  was  as  follows:  A 
fashionable  London  journal,  The  Queen,  opened  its  col- 
umns a  short  time  before  1870  to  a  controversy  on 
the  subject  of  the  whipping  of  young  ladies  in  schools. 
A  correspondent  writes,- "Whipping  a  child  of  seven 

[47  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

or  eight  is  one  thing;  but  such  castigation  as  some  of 
your  correspondents  describe  I  should  have  read  with 
incredulity  but  that  my  own  recent  experience  fur- 
nishes confirmation. 

"I  am  a  bachelor.  Many  years  ago  my  only  sister 
died,  leaving  her  daughter  to  my  care.  My  niece  is 
only  eighteen  and  is  as  modest  and  well-conducted  a 
young  lady  as  I  know  anywhere.  Up  to  last  Septem- 
ber she  attended  a  London  ladies'  college  of  the  first 
rank,  and  gave  extreme  satisfaction  and  was  at  the 
head  of  her  classes.  In  that  month  I  took  a  residence 
at  a  pleasant  town  on  the  Thames.  My  niece,  who  is 
fond  of  study,  wished  to  attend  certain  classes  at  a 
large  school  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  arrange- 
ment was  made  by  me  with  the  lady  principal. 
"One  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  commencement  of 
December,  I  returned  from  London  just  before  dinner 
and  was  met  with  a  very  distressed  face  from  my  old 
housekeeper.  Her  young  mistress  had  come  home 
from  the  school  in  a  half-distracted  state  and  locked 
herself  in  her  room.  The  old  servant  had,  however, 
obtained  admission  and  ascertained  what  was  the 
trouble.  There  had  been  a  class  for  English  com- 
position at  the  school  that  morning,  the  teacher  being 
a  visiting  tutor.  Lecturing  rather  glibly  on  English 
poetry  this  person  attributed  the  line, 

We  mortal  millions  live  alone, 
to  Tennyson.  My  niece  at  once  corrected  him,  saying 

[48] 


ENGLAND 

that  the  line  was  Matthew  Arnold's.  A  governess  who 
sat  in  the  class-room  sharply  told  her  not  to  interrupt, 
and  when  the  lecture  concluded,  a  bad  mark  was  en- 
tered against  her  in  the  register.  It  is  the  custom  of 
the  schoolmistress  to  inflict  corporal  punishment  for 
all  the  bad  marks  of  a  certain  magnitude,  and  my 
niece  had  seen  one  or  two  of  the  younger  children 
whipped,  but  her  attendance  being  only  on  certain 
days  she  did  not  know  that  the  discipline  was  any- 
thing but  infantile. 

"To  her  surprise,  when  about  to  leave  after  her  les- 
sons she  was  ordered  into  the  school-room.  To  her 
amazement  and  indignation  she  found  she  was  to  be 
birched  for  impudence  to  a  teacher.  She  protested 
and  implored,  but  in  vain.  Her  resistance  was  useless 
against  force;  she  was  held  across  a  desk,  the  clothing 
was  completely  removed  from  the  lower  part  of  her 
person,  and  the  lady  principal  gave  her  twelve  sharp 
cuts  with  a  birch. 

"You  may  imagine  my  indignation  at  such  an  outrage 
to  a  modest  young  lady  who  is  actually  engaged  to  be 
married.  My  resolution  was  soon  taken.  That  evening 
I  consulted  the  wives  of  three  of  my  friends,  who  ap- 
proved of  it.  With  much  difficulty  I  induced  my  niece 
to  return  to  school  on  Monday.  Luckily  it  was  not 
long  to  Christmas,  and  she  escaped  any  further  insult 
except  the  occasional  chaff  of  one  or  two  younger 
girls.  Early  in  January  I  wrote  a  polite  note  to  the 

4  [  49  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

lady  principal,  asking  her  to  lunch  at  my  house  and 
receive  the  amount  due  her.  She  came  and  was  shown 
into  the  library,  where  the  three  married  ladies  above 
mentioned  awaited  her.  Causing  her  to  be  seated  I 
told  her  my  opinion  of  her  conduct,  observing  that 
for  my  niece's  sake  I  desired  to  avoid  the  exposure 
attendant  upon  legal  proceedings,  and  added  that  with 
the  approval  of  the  ladies  present  I  should  punish  her 
as  she  had  punished  my  niece.  Of  course  there  was  a 
tempestuous  scene,  but  she  had  to  submit.  I  had  rid- 
den over  to  Eton  and  got  a  good  stout  birch  from 
the  man  who  makes  for  the  college.  It  is  only  neces- 
sary to  add  that  she  was  treated  as  my  niece  had  been 
in  the  matter  of  apparel,  and  that  I  gave  her  twenty 
strokes,  whose  severity  the  state  of  her  cuticle  plainly 
attested.  She  was  well  able  to  bear  them,  being  forty 
years  old,  unmarried,  a  tall,  strong,  stout  woman.  My 
niece  declined  to  be  present  at  the  punishment,  but  I 
compelled  the  woman  to  apologize  humbly  to  her 
afterwards.  I  have  since  heard  a  rumour  that  she  in- 
tends to  give  up  the  school  and  leave  the  neighbour- 
hood." 


[50] 


CHEAPSIDE  BEFORE  THE  FIRE  OF  LONDON 


CHAPTER      IV 

Cwent  Garden  theatre  in  1821 — T^he  "Kemhle  Family" 

Pitture 

IFE  is  for  work  and  not  for  play,  and  my 
life-work  began  soon  after  I  was  twelve  years 
^  of  age.  A  Mr.  Charles  Hawkes,  to  whom  I 
was  warmly  attached,  kept  a  nursery  garden  on  Prince's 
Road,  Lambeth,  near  where  we  lived,  and  I  was  fond 
of  being  in  his  company,  busying  myself  in  his  garden. 
The  laboratory  of  the  Italian  Signor  Mortram,  pyro-^ 
technist  and  scenic  artist,  backed  against  this  garden, 
fronting  upon  Lambeth  Walk,  although  at  some  hun- 
dred feet  distance  from  it.  One  day  while  I  was  occu- 
pied in  digging  a  trench  in  which  to  plant  a  dwarf  box 
border  between  the  gravel-path  and  the  flower-bed, 
I  saw  Mr.  Mortram  watching  my  work.  I  supposed 
he  was  interested  in  the  operation,  but  I  afterwards 
learned  that  he  was  revolving  in  his  mind  something 
that  resulted  in  consequences  to  me.  Presently  he 
addressed  me,  asking  how  I  would  like  to  be  a  fire^ 
works  maker.  I  said  I  should  like  it  very  much.  He 
asked  me  who  was  my  father,  and  I  answered  that 
he  had  been  dead  more  than  four  years.  "Well  then, 
your  mother, — you  have  a  mother?"  I  told  him  that 
I  had.  "Ask  her  to  come  to  see  me,  that  we  may  talk 

[51  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

it  over;  I  live  in  Westminster  Road,  opposite  the 
Marsh  Gate."  This  was  a  turnpike  gate  and  suitably 
named,  for  all  the  surrounding  flats  had  been  a  marsh. 
My  father's  business,  having  been  deprived  of  com- 
petent direction  by  his  death,  had  soon  run  down, 
although  my  mother  at  first  tried  to  carry  it  on  and 
superintend  the  factory.  This  made  me  glad  of  the 
opportunity  to  earn  money  and  relieve  her  somewhat 
of  her  burden.  Everything  was  arranged  satisfactorily 
and  I  went  to  work,  making  my  start  in  life  before  I 
reached  my  teens.  The  signer  told  my  mother  that 
his  attention  was  drawn  to  me  by  the  vigorous  way  in 
which  I  handled  my  spade.  The  truth  is  that  some- 
thing had  occurred  that  ruffled  my  temper  considera- 
bly, and  the  ardour  he  admired  was  the  giving  vent  to 
my  anger,  but  he  did  not  know  that. 
The  life  was  a  hard  one,  considering  the  many  hours 
of  labour  almost  every  day,  but  not  monotonous,  being 
full  of  varied  amusement  in  connection  with  public 
exhibitions.  To  my  employer  was  confided  the  depart- 
ment of  "steam,  smoke  and  fire"  at  Charles  Kemble's 
Theatre  Royal,  Covent  Garden,  and  such  effects  were 
in  frequent  demand  in  afterpieces,  and  in  pantomimes 
especially.  He  was  also  assistant  to  Telbin  Grieve,  the 
head  scene-painter,  as  artist  in  the  same  theatre.  In 
addition,  he  was  one  of  the  two  pyrotechnists  to  Vaux- 
hall  Garden,  Madame  Henzler  being  the  other,  and 
as  exhibitions  were  given  three  evenings  in  the  week 


ENGLAND 

they  alternated,  each  furnishing  the  display  twice  in 
every  other  week.  The  exhibitions  made  those  work- 
days long  on  which  they  occurred,  for  the  signal  for 
starting  the  fireworks  was  given  by  the  clock  striking 
the  hour  of  midnight,  and  the  firing  occupied  half  an 
hour.  However,  Vauxhall  Garden  was  open  only  dur- 
ing the  summer  season.  The  theatre  continued  its  per- 
formances through  the  rest  of  the  year  and  closed 
very  late  at  night,  for  in  those  days  the  public  was  not 
satisfied  with  a  full  five-ad:  drama,  but  exaded  from 
the  management  an  afterpiece  in  addition.  To  walk 
home  after  this  to  beyond  St.  Paul's,  and  then  in  the 
morning  another  couple  of  miles  to  reach  work  at  half 
past  seven,  was  not  an  easy  life,  but  I  cannot  say  that 
it  "was  not  a  happy  one." 

Macready  was  a  member  of  the  stock  company  of  the 
Covent  Garden  Theatre  at  that  time  (1821),  but  he 
had  not  yet  attained  the  highest  position  in  it:  that 
was  held  by  Charles  Young,  who  on  tragedy  nights, 
Mondays,  always  had  the  leading  part.  Macready  used 
to  play  Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  Joseph  Surface  and 
similar  characters,  but  I  saw  him  in  F^irginius^  which 
I  understood  had  been  written  by  James  Sheridan 
Knowles  expressly  for  him,  and  I  think  he  owned  or 
controlled  rights  in  its  production.  Ordinarily  his 
manner  was  serious  and  dignified,  and  I  thought  he 
generally  had  a  look  of  discontent,  but  once  and  once 
only  I  saw  on  his  face  an  amused  expression.  The  play 

[53] 


REMINISCENCES 

was  VirginiuS)  and   Macready  was   in   the  wing  with 
Virginia,  both  waiting  their  cue,  and   to  her  he  was 
addressing  some  sneering  remarks  about  Abbott,  who 
held  the  stage  in  the  character  of  Icilius.  I  stood  where 
I  could  see  the  faces  of  both,  and  it  was  clear  from 
Abbott's  restlessness  and  the  quick,  annoyed  glances 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  that  he  divined  the  nature 
of  the  conversation  going  on  at  his  expense  and  the 
enjoyment  of  Macready  at  his  vexation. 
David    Edwin,    the    eminent    Philadelphia    engraver, 
was  engaged  by  Mr.  Warren  of  the  Chestnut  Street 
Theatre,  after  he  was  compelled  by  his  failing  sight 
to   discontinue    the    use   of  the  graver,   and   he  was 
often  the  messenger  to  the  aclors.  He  told  me  that 
on  one  occasion  he  went  to  Macready,  who  was  then 
in  Philadelphia,  stopping  at  Head's  Hotel,  on  Third 
Street    above   Spruce,  (originally  the   Bingham   man- 
sion), to   take  him  a  balance  due  on  account  of  his 
engagement.    The   aclor  looked  at  the  money  which 
Edwin  placed  on  the  table,  as  if  it  would  be  a  degrada- 
tion to  touch  it,  and  then,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  face 
of  the  messenger,  gazed  at  him  solemnly  for  a  minute. 
Putting  his  finger  in  the  pocket  of  his  vest  he  then 
drew  forth  with  great  deliberation  a  Mexican  half  dol- 
lar, and  holding  it  by  the  edge  between  finger  and 
thumb  horizontally,  like  a   plate   for   charity,  he  ad- 
vanced a  step  and  offered  it  to  Edwin,  who  with  equal 
dignity   declined   it,  saying,   "Sir,   Mr.  Warren   pays 

[54] 


ENGLAND 

me."  Macready  raised  his  eyelids  slightly  as  if  sur- 
prised, and  returned  the  silver  to  his  pocket  without 
a  word. 

My  coign  of  vantage,  from  which  I  was  able  to  obtain 
a  view  of  nearly  the  whole  stage  and  yet  be  out  of 
sight  of  the  audience,  was  close  against  the  first  side- 
wing  back  of  the  foot-lights.  On  this  spot  I  had  to 
stand  to  illumine  with  a  blue  sulphurous  light  the 
ghost  of  the  Commendatore  in  Don  Giovanni,  as  he 
stalked  past  me  on  to  the  stage.  For  this  purpose  I 
held  in  my  left  hand  an  iron  spoon  filled  with  a  com- 
position of  sulphur,  nitre,  meal  powder  and  red  orpi- 
ment,  and  in  my  right,  a  small  port  fire,  ready  lighted. 
My  cue  for  applying  the  light  was  three  heavy  blows 
on  the  floor  with  a  large  drumstick,  given  by  the 
prompter  just  before  the  time  for  his  ghostship  to 
advance. 

It  was  the  custom  to  keep  the  wings  and  other  parts 
of  the  stage  behind  the  scenes  clear  of  persons  not 
actually  on  immediate  duty,  not  excepting  even  the 
aclors,  who  were  in  the  green  room  ready  for  the  sum- 
mons of  the  prompter,  by  his  messenger  the  call-boy. 
But  I  used  to  take  my  stand  with  impunity;  being 
small,  perhaps  I  was  unobserved,  or  maybe  I  was 
treated  with  indulgence,  for  I  perceived  that  the 
<c powder  monkey"  (the  name  I  was  known  by)  was 
rather  a  favourite.  My  diminutive  stature  adapted  me 
all  the  better  for  some  of  my  duties ;  for  example,  in 

[55] 


REMINISCENCES 

Sheridan's  play  of  "The  Critic,  or  a  tragedy  Rehearsed^ 
the  ships  of  the  Spanish  Armada  appear  in  a  suc- 
cession of  three  ranks,  the  first  row,  as  demanded 
by  the  law  of  perspective,  being  the  largest,  and  the 
scenic  water  on  which  they  rested  rising  very  little 
above  the  stage.  The  second  row,  by  the  same  law, 
had  smaller  ships  and  a  higher  bank  of  water,  and  so 
on  to  the  third.  To  me  was  allotted  the  front  rank 
because  I  was  small  enough  to  be  concealed  from  the 
view  even  of  the  gods  in  the  upper  gallery,  as  I  lay 
listening  for  my  cue,  when  I  would  fire  from  the  guns 
a  broadside  of  small  Roman-candle-stars,  which  would 
expire  before  they  could  fall  upon  the  stage. 
Sometimes  the  most  laughable  and  ridiculous  blunders 
happen  before  an  audience  when  the  work  is  handled 
by  ignorant  and  stupid  assistants  not  properly  super- 
vised, and  by  this  mention  of  the  perspective  arrange- 
ment of  the  ships  in  the  play  of  The  Critic  I  am 
reminded  of  an  instance  exquisitely  ludicrous.  At 
Vauxhall  Gardens,  one  of  the  successive  shows  of  the 
evening  was  a  theatre  of  moving  scenery,  without 
actors,  and  the  effect  was  very  beautiful.  In  front  was 
represented  tumbling  water  flowing  toward  the  spec- 
tators, the  realistic  appearance  being  produced  by 
painted  canvas  stretched  around  three  large  rollers 
revolving  one  behind  the  other,  the  foremost  being 
lowest.  Behind  these  was  a  bridge,  through  whose 
arch  was  visible  a  sheet  of  falling  water,  made  by  the 

[  56] 


ENGLAND 

obvious  means  of  painted  canvas  passing  over  two 
rollers,  and  beyond,  seen  over  the  bridge,  appeared  a 
sheet  of  smooth  water.  Now  all  this  was  eminently 
successful  and  elicited  admiration  and  applause,  until 
the  attendants  began  sending  row-boats  across  the 
water  beyond  the  bridge.  Some  of  the  boatmen  were 
made  small,  of  course,  intended  for  the  remote  dis- 
tance, while  others  were  large  for  the  nearest  ledge, 
and  some  were  intermediate  for  the  middle  distance, 
all  accurately  adjusted  according  to  the  law  of  per- 
spective. But  the  senders  of  these  automatic  manikin 
boatmen  paid  no  attention  to  the  obvious  proprieties, 
and  despatched  a  diminutive  rower  across  on  the  nearest 
ledge  while  at  the  same  time  a  colossus  would  be  seen 
labouring  over  in  the  remote  distance.  Nothing  more 
absurd  than  this  spectacle  can  be  imagined,  and  the 
applause  changed  into  roars  of  derisive  laughter. 
At  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking  Abbott  was  a 
very  handsome  man,  and  when  Shakespeare's  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona  was  produced,  altered  into  a 
splendid  show  piece,  he  played  the  character  of  Sir 
Proteus,  and  in  that  he  met  with  a  frightful  accident 
that  I  witnessed.  In  the  last  scene  he  had  hardly 
entered  on  the  stage,  engaged  in  a  sword  combat  with 
the  robber  from  whom  he  was  rescuing  the  Lady 
Silvia,  when  he  missed  his  guard,  and  his  adversary's 
heavy  weapon  came  crashing  down  into  his  face, 
cutting  from  above  his  brow  on  to  the  cheek-bone 

[  57] 


REMINISCENCES 

below  the  eye.  The  curtain  was  rung  down  immedi- 
ately, and  of  course  the  play  could  not  be  finished.  He 
dropped  his  sword  on  the  instant  and  clapped  both 
hands  to  his  face.  As  he  was  led  past  where  I  stood, 
which  was  not  six  feet  from  the  spot  where  the  acci- 
dent occurred,  I  saw  the  sanguine  stains  between  the 
fingers  of  his  white  gloves.  Conner  then  assumed 
the  part  in  subsequent  performances  while  Abbott's 
wound  was  healing.  Very  many  years  after  I  saw 
Abbott  on  the  stage  of  the  Park  Theatre,  New  York, 
and  I  naturally  looked  for  the  scar,  and  there  it  yet 
remained.  This  theatre  disappeared  long  ago.  It  stood 
on  Park  Row,  opposite  the  present  post-office. 
The  rendering  of  The  ^wo  Gentlemen  of  Verona  was  so 
altered  from  the  original  that  Shakespeare  would  have 
been  greatly  surprised,  could  he  have  seen  it,  but  it 
secured  a  long  run  in  consequence  of  the  liberties 
taken.  My  part  in  the  performance  was  to  explode  a 
great  tower  with  gunpowder.  Sir  Thurio  (played  by 
Farren)  cried,  "Ah,  Lady  Silvia,  we  shall  soon  gain 
the  viclory!"  That  last  word  being  my  cue,  I  applied 
my  light  port-fire  to  the  powder  on  the  instant,  and 
the  tower  burst  asunder;  each  half  of  the  structure, 
nicely  poised  on  rockers  by  the  framework  behind, 
was  pulled  over  by  a  scene  shifter  on  either  side  at 
the  moment  of  the  explosion,  producing  an  effecT;  in 
front  that  was  realistic  in  the  extreme.  Then  was 
disclosed  to  the  audience  a  dazzling,  fairy-like  scene. 

[58] 


ENGLAND 

In  the  centre  were  three  great  flat  wheels  with  curved 
spokes  covered  with  loose,  shining  tinsel  of  various 
colours,  revolving  one  behind  the  other  in  opposite 
directions,  the  back  one  seen  between  the  spokes  of 
those  in  front,  producing  charming,  almost  magical 
moving  patterns.  Four  separate  groups  crossed  the 
stage  in  succession,  representing  the  seasons.  But  the 
climax  of  the  display  was  Cleopatra  on  her  galley, 
which  was  gorgeous  in  the  extreme,  and  so  large  as  to 
£11  the  stage  from  side  to  side,  while  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  the  ample  sails  of  rich  silk,  pale  green,  rose 
color  and  pearl,  adorned  with  golden  ornamentation, 
left  no  vacant  space  anywhere  above  or  around.  The 
vessel  rocked  slowly  and  majestically  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  mimic  waters,  which  were  made  to  rise  and  sink  in 
wavy  swells  in  imitation  of  nature.  No  wonder  the  piece 
had  a  long  run  with  so  much  splendour  to  help  it. 
I  often  witnessed  occurrences  behind  the  scenes  by  no 
means  of  the  painful  nature  of  that  just  narrated  about 
Abbott.  One  night,  when  the  after-piece  was  The  Tivo 
Pages  of  Frederick  the  Great,  Mrs.  Chatterton  and  Miss 
Foote,  as  the  two  pages,  had  both  forgotten  the  dia- 
logue, and  when  it  was  almost  time  for  them  to  go  on 
the  stage  they  were  together  trying  in  an  anxious  and 
excited  manner  to  help  each  other  to  the  lost  words. 
When  the  time  was  up,  I  gathered  from  their  remarks 
that  an  approximation  merely  to  the  exact  words  would 
have  to  serve.  A  few  minutes  later  I  watched  the  per- 

[59] 


REMINISCENCES 

formance  from  the  side  wing  and  they  both  appeared 
to  go  through  their  parts  without  embarrassment, 
although  just  before  they  went  on  they  were  full  of 
serious  trouble. 

Liston,  who  was  the  foremost  a6tor  in  London  in  the 
line  of  drolleries,  played  Launce,  and  Farren  played 
Sir  Thurio.  Whatever  character  Farren  took  was  sure 
to  be  personated  to  the  life.  As  Frederick  the  Great 
he  looked  just  like  the  old  portraits  made  living,  and 
his  manners  were  all  that  we  read  of  about  Frederick. 
His  Sir  Peter  Teazle  in  The  School  for  Scandal  was 
such  perfection  that  when  suit  was  brought  against 
him  in  court  for  breaking  contract  and  going  over  to 
the  Drury  Lane  Company,  it  was  given  in  evidence 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  produce  The  School  for 
Scandal  at  all  without  Farren  as  Sir  Peter.  Looking 
at  Farren  in  citizen's  dress,  I  could  never  make  up 
my  mind  whether  he  was  old  or  young.  Miss  Maria 
Tree  represented  Julia;  not  the  Miss  Tree  who  after- 
wards became  Mrs.  Charles  Kean,  for  that  lady  had 
not  yet  appeared  on  any  stage,  her  debut,  when  it  did 
occur,  being  for  her  sister's  benefit.  Of  Miss  Maria 
Tree  I  have  an  admirable  whole  length  portrait,  after 
a  drawing  by  Wageman,  in  the  character  of  the  Rob- 
ber's Wife,  also  another  equally  good  by  the  same 
artist  of  Jones  as  Puff  in  Sheridan's  Play  of  The 
Critic.  Jones  played  Sir  Valentine  in  The  Two  Gentle- 
men of  Verona.  Occasionally  I  saw  behind  the  scenes 

[60] 


ENGLAND 

Charles  Kemble's  daughter  Fanny.  Of  course  she  was 
too  young  to  have  any  business  connection  with  the 
theatre  then,  but  some  years  later  she  made  her  debut 
as  The  Roman  Daughter,  a  play  selected  for  her  first 
appearance  with  a  special  meaning.  The  theatre  was 
large  and  the  expenses  heavy,  and  the  management 
needed  a  change  from  the  routine  attractions.  The  ap- 
pearance of  a  new  Kemble  on  the  stage  made  a  sudden 
and  immense  success,  and  turned  the  tide  of  popularity 
in  favour  of  her  father's  theatre,  and  saved  the  fortunes 
of  the  house.  One  of  the  last  works  of  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  was  an  elaborate  and  beautiful  drawing  of 
the  young  actress,  a  facsimile  engraving  from  which 
was  afterwards  published. 

It  was  somewhere  about  1833  that  Mr.  Kemble  and 
his  daughter  played  an  engagement  at  the  old  Chest- 
nut Street  Theatre,  near  Sixth  Street,  Philadelphia. 
They  stayed  at  Head's  Hotel,  on  Third  Street  near 
Spruce  Street,  and  here  I  saw  them  in  their  parlour. 
Mr.  Kemble  had  commissioned  me  to  re-engrave  his 
portrait  as  Secretary  Cromwell,  copied  from  Harlow's 
picture  of  the  Kemble  family,  and  I  went  there  to  de- 
liver the  proofs  from  the  plate.  I  had  previously  en- 
graved a  portrait  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  after  the 
fine  print  by  Cousins,  and  I  purposely  placed  the 
Lawrence  on  top  so  that  it  should  be  the  first  seen 
when  opened.  Miss  Fanny  was  standing  on  the  hearth 
rug,  her  back  to  the  fire,  and  her  hands  behind  her. 

[61  j 


REMINISCENCES 

As  the  package  was  opened,  she  naturally  expelled  to 
see  the  portrait  of  her  father,  but  to  her  astonishment 
there  was  that  of  her  friend  Sir  Thomas.  The  way  in 
which  her  sudden  pleasurable  surprise  was  expressed 
was  worth  witnessing.  I  expressly  planned  the  surprise, 
and  it  was  a  success. 

Among  the  members  of  the  Covent  Garden  company 
in  1821  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fawcett  and  Miss  Foote; 
the  latter  used  to  personate  Ariel  to  Charles  Young's 
Prospero  in  "The  tempest.  And  then  there  was  also: 
Miss  Stephens,  the  accomplished  vocalist,  who  after- 
wards became  Countess  of  Essex.  Chapman,  to  whom 
was  assigned  the  role  of  the  king  in  Hamlet,  emi- 
grated to  America,  and  in  1830  I  saw  him  at  the 
Walnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  of  which  he  was 
the  lessee,  and  the  larger  part  of  the  principal  per- 
formers were  members  of  his  own  talented  family.  To 
avoid  the  too  frequent  recurrence  of  the  Chapman 
name  on  the  bills,  some  assumed  other  names. 
Although  all  these  actors  have  long  since  passed  away 
their  lineaments  are  faithfully  preserved  to  us  in  the 
character  pictures  of  George  Clint.  A  fine  print  was 
published  of  his  Miss  Foote  in  the  Character  of  Maria 
Darlington,  in  A  Roland  for  an  Oliver,  painted  by  him 
for  Colonel  Berkeley,  of  which  I  possess  a  proof.  But 
it  would  resemble  an  ample  catalogue  to  enumerate 
the  pictures  Clint  made  of  the  prominent  actors  of  that 
period,  and  lovers  of  the  dramatic  art  are  under  great 

[62] 


ENGLAND 

obligations  to  him,  for  it  was  more  than  twenty  years 
earlier  than  the  invention  of  daguerreotyping. 
Besides  painting  original  pictures,  this  accomplished  ar- 
tist occupied  much  of  his  time  in  engraving,  especially 
in  mezzotinto,  an  art  he  had  learned  from  Mr.  Edward 
Bell.  His  crowning  work  in  that  line  was  his  famous 
plate  after  George  H.  Harlow's  splendid  picture  of 
The  "Trial  of  Queen  Katharine,  which  is  also  known  as 
The  Kemhle  Family,  because  containing  portraits  from 
life,  of  Mrs.  Siddons  as  Queen  Katharine,  John  Philip 
Kemble  as  Secretary  Cromwell  and  Stephen  Kemble 
as  King  Henry.  But  there  are,  besides  the  Kembles, 
Miss  Stephens,  Blanchard,  Conway,  Park,  and  others. 
The  plate  was  so  popular,  and  the  demand  for  impres- 
sions so  great  that  Clint  had  to  engrave  it  three  times. 
Many  erroneous  stories  were  current  regarding  the 
work,  and  the  origin  of  this  remarkable  picture  was  in 
itself  so  remarkable  that  the  particulars  are  worth  re- 
lating. The  real  facts  of  the  case  are  to  be  had  in  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Cribb,  who  owned  the  copyright  and 
employed  Clint  to  make  the  engraving.  In  correction  of 
erroneous  statements  the  true  history  is  given  in  the 
following  extract  from  Cribb's  letter  on  the  subject: 

SIR: 

MR.  Welsh    employed   Mr.   Harlow  to  paint   a 
whole  length  figure  of  Mrs.   Siddons  upon  a 
small  scale  from  recollection  in  the  character  of  Queen 

[63] 


REMINISCENCES 

Katharine,  for  which  he  was  to  pay  Mr.  Harlow 
twenty  guineas,  his  usual  price  for  that  size  picture. 
After  the  artist  had  made  a  commencement  he  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  enlarging  his  subject  and  introdu- 
cing other  portraits.  He  mentioned  his  wish  to  Mr. 
Welsh,  telling  him  that  if  he  could  induce  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  to  sit  for  her  portrait  he  would  paint  him  a  pic- 
ture worthy  of  the  subject.  Mrs.  Siddons  did  consent, 
and  on  the  day  appointed  went  to  Mr.  Harlow's 
studio.  Mr.  Welsh  was  present  and  was  astonished 
at  seeing  so  large  a  composition  sketched  in  chalk  on 
the  ample  canvas.  After  this  he  waited  on  the  artist 
and  told  him  that  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  pay 
for  so  large  a  picture.  Harlow  replied  that  the  picture 
was  his  for  the  twenty  guineas  agreed  on,  that  he 
should  be  amply  repaid  by  the  reputation  he  would 
gain  by  it,  and  that  he  should  owe  everything  to  him 
(Mr.  W.)  for  getting  Mrs.  Siddons  to  sit.  Mr.  Welsh 
also  induced  most  of  the  others  to  sit  whose  portraits 
are  introduced. 

When  the  picture  was  finished  Mr.  Welsh  presented 
the  artist  with  one  hundred  guineas,  which  Harlow 
told  me  he  considered  very  handsome  conduct,  as  the 
painting  was  to  cost  him  only  twenty  guineas,  and 
it  was  his  own  affair  that  he  had  done  so  much,  add- 
ing, "It  will  make  a  noise  at  Somerset  House,  and 
then  I  can  do  as  I  please."  The  day  after  the  exhibi- 
tion opened  he  doubled  his  price  for  portraits. 


£    e 

w  ^^ 

I  ^ 
?^ 

O       |0 

^  '§ 


ENGLAND 

In  addition  to  the  one  hundred  guineas,  Mr.  Welsh 
relinquished  to  the  artist  the  right  to  publish  a  print, 
and  Mr.  Harlow,  not  caring  to  be  troubled  with 
print  selling,  sold  the  copyright  to  me  for  one  hun- 
dred guineas.  As  to  Mr.  Welsh  having  received  from 
me  five  hundred  guineas  for  the  loan  of  the  picture, 
I  never  paid  him  a  single  shilling;  he  told  me  that 
he  had  given  up  the  right  of  publication  entirely  to 
Mr.  Harlow.  I  hope  this  account  will  convince  you 
that  the  imputations  cast  upon  Mr.  Welsh  are  wholly 
undeserved. 

I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

WILLIAM  CRIBB. 

15  Tavistock  Street,  Covent  Garden. 

The  picture  was  painted  in  the  year  1817,  and  while 
the  artist  was  engaged  on  it  he  also  had  in  progress 
a  portrait  of  Fuseli  for  Mr.  James  Knowles.  The 
shrewd  academy  professor  made  several  sharp  criti- 
cisms on  the  composition  of  the  Queen  Katharine, 
and  among  other  things  suggested  the  introduction 
of  the  page  who  is  adjusting  the  cushion  on  which 
they  want  the  queen  to  kneel.  My  friend,  William 
E.  Burton,  the  eminent  comedian  and  manager,  said 
to  me,  pointing  to  the  page  in  the  print,  " That's  my 
leg, — Harlow  painted  that  boy's  figure  from  me." 
The  print  before  us  was  a  small  copy  I  had  engraved 
for  Campbell's  Foreign  Semi-Monthly  Magazine,  of  which 
s  [65  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

work  I  was  both  proprietor  and  editor,  and  it  appeared 
in  the  number  for  January  i,  1844. 
The  print  of  it  by  Clint  is  an  admirable  work  and 
conveys  an  idea  of  having  been  copied  from  a  very 
large  picture,  and  I  always  supposed  it  was,  until  Mr. 
Charles  Kemble  set  me  right.  He  spread  out  his 
hands  and  said,  "It  was  only  about  so  wide."  I  saw 
it  long  afterward  in  the  International  Exhibition 
of  1862  at  South  Kensington,  London,  and  it  looked 
to  me  less  brilliant  and  effective  than  the  engraving 
from  it,  but  time  may  have  subdued  it  somewhat. 
Still  I  remember  the  artist's  portrait  of  himself  at 
Florence  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Uffizi,  and  his  picture 
in  the  Gallery  of  St.  Luke's  Academy  at  Rome, 
'The  Presentation  of  the  Cardinal's  Hat  to  Wolsey,  both  as 
fresh  and  clear  as  if  they  had  not  been  painted  a  week. 
Charles  Kemble's  portrait  in  the  picture  as  Secretary 
Cromwell,  sitting  beyond  the  table,  pen  in  hand,  had 
been  engraved  by  itself — I  think  by  Lupton,  a  pupil 
and  protege  of  Clint's — and  Mr.  Kemble,  when  in 
Philadelphia,  showed  me  a  proof  of  the  plate  in  its 
original  state.  He  owned  the  plate  itself,  but  it  had 
been  worn  out  and  then  repaired  by  some  unskilful 
hand,  the  face  being  made  ludicrous  by  distortion. 
He  asked  me  to  restore  it  to  its  pristine  condition, 
which  I  did  after  nearly  obliterating  the  old  by  a  new 
mezzotint  ground,  and  he  was  greatly  pleased  with  the 

result. 

[66] 


ENGLAND 

I  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Kemble  in  Sully 's  painting 
room,  going  there  by  appointment  for  the  purpose. 
When  the  sitting  was  over,  Mr.  Kemble  stepped  down 
from  the  raised  platform  and,  looking  at  the  picture, 
remarked  that  the  face  appeared  large.  Sully  said, 
"You  have  a  large  face."  To  which  Kemble  replied, 
"Fortunate  for  me — in  my  profession."  This  portrait 
is  only  a  head,  and  is  in  the  permanent  collection  of 
the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts.  It  was 
painted  about  1833. 

Besides  the  actors  already  named  as  belonging  to  the 
Covent  Garden  company,  there  was  Mrs.  Chatterton, 
who  played  with  Miss  Foote  in  'The  Two  Pages  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  and  Miss  Hallande,  who  person- 
ated Captain  Macheath  in  The  Beggars'  Opera  and 
Silvia  in  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.  Liston,  the 
original  Paul  Pry,  played  Captain  Dalgetty  in  The 
Children  of  the  Mist,  with  Yates  as  Son  of  the  Mist, 
and  Macready  appeared  in  Rob  Roy. 
But  the  company  had  an  adjunct  of  a  quite  different 
character  that  was  needed  occasionally,  especially  in 
Christmas  pantomimes.  It  consisted  of  a  sort  of  ju- 
venile rabble  gathered  from  the  slums  in  the  imme- 
diate neighbourhood  just  north  of  the  theatre,  between 
Covent  Garden  and  Longacre.  Managers  of  popular 
entertainments  experience  the  necessity  of  sometimes 
presenting  to  their  audiences  scenes  of  an  exciting 
character  to  add  to  the  attraction,  otherwise  the  in- 


REMINISCENCES 

terest  is  apt  to  wane  and  profits  decline.  John  Philip 
Kemble,  dignified  and  severe  a  classic  as  he  was,  and 
for  whom  the  theatre  was  built  in  1808,  tried  it  in 
Macbeth,  but  the  refractory  urchins  who  personated 
the  "black  spirits  and  white,  red  spirits  and  grey," 
of  Hecate's  troop,  were  so  outrageously  unmanage- 
able that  he  had  to  abandon  the  experiment.  But  it 
was  still  necessary  in  certain  cases  to  have  within 
summons  a  lot  of  such  boys,  and  I  had  frequent 
opportunities  of  witnessing  behind  the  scenes  how 
difficult  it  was  to  bring  this  unruly  element  into  some- 
thing approaching  order  and  obedience.  There  was 
a  scene  in  the  pantomime  of  Harlequin  and  Mother 
Bunch  representing  Blackheath,  where  the  spacious 
stage  was  pretty  well  filled  by  a  crowd  of  these  boys 
of  all  sizes.  On  these  occasions  the  mirth  and  fun 
would  become  so  fast  and  furious  as  to  be  contagious, 
and  I  took  to  joining  in  the  sport. 
Among  the  boys,  more  particularly  the  older  ones, 
were  some  of  a  questionable  sort,  for  I  learned  they 
were  thieves.  I  was  pained  to  hear  this  of  them,  be- 
cause they  were  such  pleasant,  good-natured  fellows, 
and,  as  I  had  occasion  to  know,  strictly  fair  and  honour- 
able in  their  dealings  with  one  another,  however  they 
may  have  been  with  those  not  of  their  guild.  When 
disguised  in  oriental  turbans  and  robes  glistening  with 
jewels,  as  in  the  great  procession  in  Blue  Beard  or 
other  similar  pageants,  they  looked  not  merely  highly 

[68] 


ENGLAND 

respectable,  but  even  impressively  noble.  What  first 
drew  my  attention  to  this  group  of  older  boys,  and 
led  finally  to  my  learning  not  only  their  character  but 
some  of  their  exploits,  was  a  song  I  heard  them  sing- 
ing in  a  subdued  tone,  the  refrain  at  the  end  of  each 
verse  being: — 

0  gentlemen  judges,  may  you  all  he  damned 
For  sending  foor  lads  to  Virginia. 

These  experts  were  probably  unaware  that  in  the 
upper  strata  of  society  there  were  many  engaged  in 
the  same  line  of  industry  as  themselves,  only  with 
larger  enterprises  and  on  a  wider  field,  and  involving 
consequences  more  cruel.  These  latter  too  wear  for  a 
time  their  stage  costumes,  indicating  the  highest  re- 
speftability,  until  some  untoward  accident  uncloaks 
them.  An  eminent  financier  whom  I  once  knew  was 
met  on  the  street  by  a  lady  who  exclaimed,  "Why, 

Mr. ,  I  heard  you  were  drowned!"  "Oh,  no,  my 

dear  madam,  you  see  I  am  not."  "Well,  I  heard  you 
were  drowned  in  the  tears  of  widows  and  orphans." 
The  made-up  elephants  for  the  procession  in  Blue 
Beard  when  seen  behind  the  scenes  looked  by  no 
means  respectable,  whatever  improvement  distance 
might  lend  to  their  appearance.  They  could  not  be 
made  to  step  right,  and  Lord  Byron  tells  of  hearing 
the  hind  legs  of  an  elephant  cursing  the  eyes  of  the 
fore  legs  for  not  moving  better. 


REMINISCENCES 

There  were  occasions  when  the  painting  room  of  the 
theatre  presented  lively  times  in  the  rapid  preparation 
of  scenery  for  some  piece  about  to  be  produced  with 
too  little  time  to  do  it.  The  design  was  always  made 
by  the  artist-in-chief,  but  it  would  take  all  the  force 
of  assistants  at  command  to  hurry  through  its  execu- 
tion on  the  enlarged  scale.  My  employer,  Mr.  Mor- 
tram,  was  one  of  the  scene  painters,  and  in  emergen- 
cies he  would  have  me  help  him  forward  with  some 
purely  mechanical  work.  One  morning  while  the  new 
scenery  for  the  pantomime  of  Harlequin  and  Mother 
Bunch  was  being  rushed  through,  I  was  engaged  in 
sticking  tinsel  upon  the  artist's  touches  of  glue,  to 
represent  the  glitter  of  the  castle  of  polished  steel  in 
the  moonlight,  when  a  lively  controversy  arose  as  to 
who  should  go  to  sketch  the  "White  Horse  Cellar" 
in  Piccadilly,  at  that  time  the  starting-place  of  the 
stages  going  west.  A  view  of  it  was  wanted  for  the 
piece.  One  man  could  not  go  because  what  he  was 
about  must  be  done  immediately,  and  another  the 
same,  and  so  on  through  the  group.  At  last  one  of 
them  cried,  "Look  here,  Mortram,  can't  you  send 
that  boy  of  yours?  You  say  he  draws."  No  sooner 
proposed  than  settled,  and  I  was  despatched  with  a 
stiff  card-board,  two  sheets  of  paper,  and  directions  to 
make  a  kind  of  map  of  the  house-front  with  the  sign- 
boards of  their  relative  size  and  proportion,  and  an- 
other drawing  of  the  signs  on  a  separate  sheet  large 

[70] 


ENGLAND 

enough  to  show  their  Wording.  I  accomplished  my 
task  sufficiently  well  to  enable  them  to  paint  the  scene 
from  my  diagram,  adding,  however,  in  the  foreground 
a  crowd  of  stage-coaches. 


[71] 


CHAPTER      V 

theatre  Life   Continued — Marshal  sea  and  King's  Bench 

Prisons 

R.  Mortram  had  a  son  who  was  also  a  pyro- 
technist. His  manufactory  was  in  Westmin- 
ster Road,  next  door  to  Madame  Hengler's, 
and  a  short  distance  from  the  Obelisk  which  Dickens 
calls  the  "Obstacle."  Father  and  son  were  on  un- 
friendly terms,  and  did  not  speak  to  each  other  until 
a  reconciliation  was  brought  about  in  the  following 
way.  When  George  the  Fourth  was  to  be  crowned, 
the  government  suddenly  decided  to  have  a  display 
of  fireworks,  and  at  the  eleventh  hour  Sir  William 
Congreve  (he  of  the  famous  rocket)  sent  an  order  to 
the  elder  Mortram  to  undertake  part  of  the  work. 
But  he  was  away  in  the  west  of  England,  preparing  an 
exhibition  at  Bath  to  commemorate  the  same  event. 
Mortram,  Jr.,  tendered  his  services  on  his  father's 
behalf;  they  were  cheerfully  accepted,  and  thus  the 
breach  was  healed. 

The  coronation  display  was  held  in  the  largest  open 
space  of  Hyde  Park,  north  of  the  Serpentine  and 
some  distance  west  of  Park  Lane.  An  extensive  circle 
was  enclosed  by  a  temporary  open  wooden  fence,  be- 
hind which  stood  the  set  pieces,  presenting  a  contin- 

[72] 


ENGLAND 

uous  front  all  around.  The  people  for  whom  the  sight 
was  prepared  were  fated,  however,  not  to  see  it.  The 
authorities  had  issued  orders  that  the  firing  was  to 
proceed  slowly,  and  midnight  arrived  before  half  the 
display,  and  the  best  half,  had  been  set  off,  when  a 
sudden  cloud-burst  brought  down  such  a  deluge  of 
rain,  that  the  pieces  were  all  fired  off  at  once  in  a 
dazzling  blaze  all  around  the  circle,  while  the  people 
with  backs  turned  were  running  for  shelter,  like 
straight  rays  from  a  central  focus. 
Mortram,  Jr.,  employed  a  boy  named  Jim, — I  never 
knew  his  full  name, — whose  occupation  was  similar 
to  my  own,  and  we  were  consequently  thrown  together 
to  assist  each  other  where  the  strength  of  either  was 
insufficient.  In  some  of  the  performances  at  Covent 
Garden  Theatre  a  good  deal  of  lime  was  used,  as 
hot  water  dashed  on  it  would  produce  a  volume  of 
steam  to  pour  out  of  a  chimney,  whether  of  a  moving 
steamboat  or  of  a  factory.  This  lime  was  deposited  in 
our  closet  in  quantities  no  greater  than  a  barrelful  at 
a  time,  for  fear  of  a  fire,  I  believe,  and  it  took  the  united 
strength  of  Jim  and  myself  to  carry  it  to  the  theatre 
from  the  lime-yard  where  we  bought  it.  The  barrel 
was  swung  on  a  pole,  one  end  of  which  rested  on  his 
shoulder  and  the  other  end  on  mine.  Our  way  was 
through  Hungerford  Market,  and  under  the  western 
colonnade  of  the  old  building  was  one  of  our  accus- 
tomed resting-places  for  change  of  shoulders.  A  boy 

[73] 


REMINISCENCES 

about  the  place  became  friendly  with  us,  and  we  talked 
while  resting.  He  told  us  some  gruesome  stories  about 
the  locality,  among  others  that  the  buildings  were 
haunted  by  the  ghost  of  a  lady.  He  had  not  seen  it 
himself,  but  he  knew  those  who  said  they  had.  It  was 
supposed  to  be  a  Lady  Hungerford,  who  had  owned 
the  place  when  it  was  a  palace,  and  who  had  been 
hanged  at  Tyburn  for  murder.  The  site  of  the  old 
Hungerford  mansion,  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  out, 
must  now  be  covered  by  the  Charing  Cross  railway 
station.  Hungerford  Stairs  led  down  to  boats  on  the 
water  at  high  tide,  and  at  low  tide  to  the  expanse  of 
acres  of  shining  black  mud  of  which  I  have  spoken 
elsewhere. 

A  little  later  another  boy  was  employed  about  this 
half-ruinous  structure,  but  at  the  end  nearest  the 
Thames,  where  it  was  most  dilapidated.  His  occupa- 
tion was  pasting  labels  on  Warren's  blacking-boxes, 
to  the  musical  accompaniment  of  a  prosperous  colony 
of  squealing  rats,  that  inhabited  the  room  next  below 
his.  He  earned  in  this  way  a  shilling  a  day,  and  must 
have  been  a  consequential  little  fellow,  for  going  into 
a  public  house  one  day  he  called  for  a  glass  of  ale  and 
added,  "Let  it  be  your  very  best/'  The  landlord  and 
his  wife  surveyed  him  in  amused  surprise,  and  then 
the  woman  lifted  him  up  and  kissed  him.  Charles 
Dickens  himself  has  told  us  this  story  of  his  boyhood. 
Mortram,  Jr.,  got  arrested  for  debt  and  was  confined 

[74] 


ENGLAND 

in  the  Marshalsea  Prison  in  the  borough  of  South- 
wark,  but  I  did  not  know  it  until  Jim  and  I  were 
one  day  on  our  way  to  the  Elephant  and  Castle, 
a  great  stage-coach  station.  Jim  stopped  near  the 
church  and  told  me  to  wait  for  him  till  he  had  done 
an  errand.  He  went  into  a  building  which  stood  back 
from  the  line  of  the  street,  the  space  in  front  being 
enclosed  by  a  dwarf  brick  wall  with  an  iron  railing 
on  top.  I  had  to  wait  a  considerable  time  for  him, 
and  when  he  came  out  I  asked  him  what  it  was,  for 
I  thought  it  looked  different  from  the  other  houses. 
He  said  that  it  was  the  Marshalsea  Prison  for  debtors, 
and  that  his  master  was  in  there.  He  had  to  take  to 
him  a  present  from  my  Mrs.  Mortram,  a  Christmas 
plum  pudding.  He  said  I  could  go  with  him  on  his 
next  visit,  but  I  must  carry  something.  This  occurred 
very  soon,  but  it  was  in  the  evening.  The  turnkey 
reconnoitred  before  opening  to  our  knock,  sliding 
back  a  movable  panel  which  covered  a  small  aperture. 
When  we  were  inside,  in  a  room  comfortably  warmed 
by  a  large  coal  fire,  the  outer  door  was  secured  with 
a  big  key  and  another  opposite  was  unlocked.  Through 
this  we  emerged  into  the  open  air  again  beyond, 
where  there  was  yet  another  unfastening  and  fastening 
of  a  strong  lock  as  we  passed  through  a  gate  in  a  tall 
iron  railing.  We  then  crossed  a  paved  space  of  per- 
haps three  or  four  yards,  and  were  at  the  dwellings  of 
the  inmates. 

[75] 


REMINISCENCES 

Jim  behaved  as  if  perfectly  at  home,  and  took  me 
through  the  first  door  on  the  left.  A  cheerful  fire 
blazed  in  a  grate  in  one  corner  of  the  room  and 
seemed  to  give  more  light  than  the  two  candles,  stuck 
in  the  necks  of  bottles,  that  stood  on  a  long  table  of 
rough  boards.  Seated  on  long,  rude  benches  at  each 
side  of  the  table  were  seven  or  eight  persons,  two  or 
three  of  them  women,  and  some  were  intent  upon  a 
game  of  cards.  Jim  told  me  to  wait  there  until  he  came 
for  me,  and  I  stood  back  against  the  wall  very  much 
abashed,  though  no  one  noticed  me.  At  the  further 
end,  away  from  the  players  and  the  lights,  were  three 
well-dressed  men  in  conversation  across  the  table.  The 
one  near  me,  as  I  stood,  sat  astride  the  bench  and 
leaning  sideways  spoke  earnestly.  "I  tell  you,  man, 
his  name  ought  not  to  be  Garth,  but  Guelf,  for  Garth 
was  not  his  father.  What  I  know  of  that  disgraceful 
business  ought  to  bring  me  a  pretty  penny  out  of 
the  hush-money  bag  that  that  man  in  Regent  Street 
holds  the  strings  of.  It  would  lift  me  out  of  all  my 
present  difficulties."  "Then  why  don't  you  make  a 
try  for  it?"  asked  one  of  the  others.  "Well,  because 
— because  I'm  afraid.  It's  a  ticklish  business  dealing 
with  men  in  power.  They  might  rake  up  some  things 
that  are  best  forgotten."  "How  can  they  find  out?" 
"Find  out?  Why,  they've  as  many  eyes  as  Argus,  and 
the  ear  of  Dionysius;  spies  everywhere,  especially 
among  women  and  those  you  would  the  least  sus- 

[76] 


ENGLAND 

peel."  They  stopped  talking  and  all  three  turned  their 
eyes  toward  the  end  of  the  room,  and  even  the  ab- 
sorbed card-players  ceased  playing  and  looked  up. 
A  decently  dressed,  middle-aged  woman  had  been 
brought  in,  looking  most  unhappy  and  forlorn.  She 
glanced  slowly  around  in  a  bewildered  sort  of  way, 
and  said  presently,  "They  have  brought  me  here  for 
no  debt  of  mine;  it  was  my  husband's,  and  he  has 
been  dead  these  four  years.  How  can  I  get  money  to 
pay  it?  Why,  I  can  only  earn  a  bare  living  by  my 
needle;  how  can  I  pay  it?"  A  tall  man  rose  from  his 
seat  and  spoke  to  her  in  kind  and  soothing  tones, 
telling  her  not  to  grieve,  that  the  Marshalsea  was  not 
the  bad  place  it  had  the  name  of  being;  it  was  better 
than  the  King's  Bench  or  any  of  the  other  places; 
that  it  would  only  be  a  short  time  until  the  Insolvent 
Court  met,  and  then  she  would  be  free.  "But  it's  a 
prison,"  she  cried,  "and  it  is  most  cruel  to  put  me  in 
prison."  He  guided  her  gently  to  the  seat  from  which 
he  had  risen,  for  she  looked  as  if  she  would  faint.  At 
this  moment  Jim  appeared  at  the  door  and  beckoned 
me  to  follow  him. 

There  was  a  paved  passage-way  on  the  south  side  of 
the  dwellings,  against  a  high  wall  that  separated  the 
prison  enclosure  from  the  churchyard.  I  saw  things 
but  vaguely,  for  there  was  no  other  light  than  that 
of  the  moon;  but  it  appeared  to  me  that  this  passage, 
of  some  six  or  seven  yards  wide,  ran  all  around  a 

[77] 


REMINISCENCES 

block  of  dwellings  for  the  inmates.  Entering  about 
the  third  door  on  the  left,  I  was  guided  up  a  dark 
stairway  to  what  I  think  was  the  second  landing. 
Here  Jim  knocked,  remarking  that  the  door  opposite 
was  Mr.  Mortram's,  but  he  was  almost  never  there 
in  the  evening.  The  door  was  opened  by  Mr.  Mor- 
tram  himself,  and  we  were  admitted.  He  said,  "Char- 
lotte, will  you  please  let  these  youngsters  stay  here  a 
little  while?  There's  no  fire  in  my  room."  "Certainly," 
said  she.  "There,  boys,  sit  on  that  box;  you're  not  so 
big  but  there's  room  for  you  both."  He  then  went 
out  to  get  what  Jim  had  come  for. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  snug  comfort  of  the  place,  al- 
though the  room  was  small  and  the  ceiling  so  low 
that  the  four  posts  of  the  bedstead,  which  took  up 
most  of  the  space,  almost  touched  it.  A  small  grate 
with  the  fire,  occupied  the  angle  most  remote  from 
the  door,  and  there  was  a  carpet  on  the  floor.  Char- 
lotte, as  they  called  her,  was  the  hostess,  and  the  fur- 
niture was  hers.  The  others  were  visitors,  but  pris- 
oners. What  I  learned  of  them  was  gained  not  all  at 
once,  of  course.  The  only  gentleman  in  the  room,  after 
Mr.  Mortram  left,  was  Mr.  Amherst,  a  dramatic 
author,  who  was  there  on  account  of  having  been 
surety  for  somebody  in  the  Surrey  Theatre  who  had 
failed  to  pay  and  had  skipped.  Between  the  bedstead 
and  the  fireplace  there  was  just  room  for  one  chair,  and 
on  that  sat  a  lady,  the  most  beautiful  in  face  and  fig- 

[78] 


ENGLAND 

ure  that  I  ever  saw.  She  was  a  Mrs.  Miller,  widow  of 
an  army  officer,  and  the  two  girls  present  were  her 
daughters.  The  pension  she  received  was  insufficient 
for  their  maintenance,  and  she  was  there  for  an  unpaid 
board  bill.  What  was  Charlotte's  cause  of  detention 
I  do  not  know,  but  on  both  the  occasions  when  I  saw 
her  she  seemed  bright  and  cheerful.  I  heard  her  tell 
that  when  she  was  young  she  was  lady's  maid  to  Lady 
Hamilton,  who  was  an  excellent  mistress,  so  kind, 
considerate  and  affable.  Lord  Nelson  was  a  frequent 
visitor,  and  when  there  was  no  one  else  present  she 
would  say,  "Charlotte,  I  know  you  like  to  hear  me 
play;  come  in."  She  knew  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
scandal  talked  about  her,  but  she  did  not  care,  and 
only  laughed.  In  one  of  the  rooms  there  was  a  picture 
of  her  by  an  artist  named  Romney,  as  a  fairy  or  a 
Bacchante  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  very  like  her 
when  she  was  merry.  Both  Mr.  Amherst  and  Mrs. 
Miller  I  met  with  again  years  later,  the  former  in 
Philadelphia;  but  of  this  I  will  speak  hereafter. 
Mr.  Mortram  put  his  head  in  at  the  door  and  told 
Jim  he  was  ready,  so  we  crossed  the  landing  and  fol- 
lowed him  into  his  room.  He  motioned  us  to  seats 
while  he  put  up  a  package  of  papers,  and  said  to  me, 
"Well,  Johnny,  what  do  you  think  of  the  inside  of  a 
prison?"  I  answered  that  I  did  not  know  it  was  so 
comfortable.  He  said,  "Of  course  you  have  never  seen 
the  inside  of  one  before?"  I  said  that  I  had,  the 

[  79] 


REMINISCENCES 

King's  Bench  Prison.  He  exclaimed,  "The  devil  you 
have!  How  did  that  come  about?  Did  you  get  into 
debt  too?  How  old  are  you?"  I  said  I  was  twelve. 
"Well,  tell  me  all  about  the  King's  Bench.  I'm  cu- 
rious to  know,  for  I  never  saw  the  inside." 
I  told  him  that  five  or  six  years  before,  my  father 
went  to  visit  a  friend  who  was  an  official  in  the  prison, 
and  took  me  with  him.  They  were  both  born  in 
Trowbridge,  Wiltshire,  had  been  playmates,  and  went 
to  school  together.  It  was  a  cold  morning,  and  I  was 
taken  into  a  large  kitchen  to  get  warm  and  was  left 
there.  Great  joints  of  meat  were  roasting  before  the 
most  enormous  fire  I  had  ever  seen.  There  must  have 
been  six  or  seven  roasts  on  the  two  spits,  which  were 
one  above  the  other,  and  as  they  went  round  by  them- 
selves I  was  curious  to  find  out  what  turned  them. 
An  iron  wheel  was  at  one  end  of  each  spit,  held  up 
by  a  chain  which  pulled  it  around,  and  they  told  me 
that  it  was  a  smoke-jack  in  the  chimney  that  supplied 
the  motive  power.  A  large  wooden  screen  was  in  front 
of  the  fire,  lined  with  bright  tin  that  reflected  back  the 
heat  and  kept  the  cold  air  from  the  meat,  and  piles 
of  plates  and  dishes  were  on  shelves  getting  warm. 
On  the  back  was  a  seat,  for  I  remember  being  lifted 
up  to  sit  on  it.  I  soon  got  tired  of  this  and  slid  off  to 
inspect  things  out  of  doors.  Next  to  the  kitchen  was 
what  I  saw  must  be  a  public  house.  "Of  course,"  in- 
terrupted Mr.  Mortram.  "We  have  one  here  too;  we 

[80  ] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


ENGLAND 

can't  live  without  porter,  you  know."  I  saw  a  very- 
high  wall,  with  a  railing  on  top  made  of  spikes  crossed 
on  each  other,  like  that  around  the  long  cannon  in 
St.  James*  Park  near  Spring  Garden.  My  father  told 
me  it  was  called  a  chevaux-de-frise.  Between  the  wall 
and  the  prisoners'  houses  was  a  very  wide  open  space 
where  men  were  playing  ball,  using  long-handled  bats 
with  open  mesh-work  for  striking  the  ball.  On  the 
wall,  as  high  as  most  houses,  were  painted  or  chalked 
enormous  circles  for  the  game. 

Mr.  Westbrook,  a  friend  of  my  father's,  joined  him 
here,  either  by  chance  or  by  appointment,  and  at  dusk 
we  left,  crossing  the  river  by  old  London  Bridge,  be^ 
cause  that  was  our  friend's  nearest  way  home  to  Step- 
ney. At  the  city  end  of  the  bridge  and  in  front  of 
Fishmongers'  Hall,  I  was  liftcid  up  to  look  between 
the  stone  balusters  at  the  greatWater-wheels,  that  were 
turned  by  the  force  of  the  river  as  it  plunged  through 
the  small  arches  like  a  waterfall.  I  felt  a  kind  of  terror 
at  the  sight  of  the  great,  black,  dripping,  slow-moving 
things  in  the  darkness,  and  the  groaning  and  splashing 
of  the  struggling  water.  I  heard  them  say  that  the 
wheels  went  round  only  when  the  tide  was  rising. 
When  it  was  running  out  the  waterfall  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bridge,  and  the  submerged  wheels 
could  not  turn,  the  river  was  banked  up  so  high 
around  them,  waiting  to  get  through  the  arches. 
When  I  had  finished  my  answers  to  the  queries  put 

[81  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

to  me,  Mr.  Mortram  handed  Jim  a  package,  telling 
him  to  take  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  to  Mr. 
McCreery,  Took's  Court,  Chancery  Lane,  and  ask 
him  to  please  send  proof  as  soon  as  he  possibly  could. 
He  looked  at  his  watch  and  said,  "Now  be  off,  quick, 
or  you  '11  be  shut  in  here  all  night." 
I  cannot  remember  how  we  passed  through  the  locked 
iron  gate,  but  we  were  admitted  to  the  lodge-room  in 
front  by  knocking  with  our  knuckles.  This  was  my 
first  visit  to  the  Marshalsea,  and  I  was  in  it  but  once 
more,  for  Mr.  Mortram  was  soon  released  as  insolv- 
ent. 

In  this  connection  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  about 
the  singular  and  unlooked-for  happenings,  the  chance 
meetings,  in  times  and  places  remote,  with  persons 
whom  it  would  seem  most  unlikely  one  could  ever 
again  encounter.  The  Mr.  Amherst,  whom  I  have 
mentioned  as  a  prisoner  in  Marshalsea,  inspired  me 
with  a  kind  of  veneration,  because  I  had  seen  in  shop 
windows  the  open  title-page  of  plays  he  had  written, 
bearing  after  his  name  the  words,  "Author  of,"  fol- 
lowed by  an  inverted  pyramid  of  titles  of  pieces,  per- 
haps ten  or  fifteen  in  number.  Some  twenty  or  more 
years  after,  a  circus,  called  Welsh's  Olympic,  was 
built  in  Philadelphia,  on  the  south  side  of  Chestnut 
Street,  east  of  Ninth,  where  the  Continental  Hotel 
now  stands.  I  went  with  my  family  to  one  of  the  first 
performances,  and  was  fairly  startled  by  the  voice  of 

[82  j 


ENGLAND 

the  usher  who  politely  showed  us  our  seats.  I  did  not 
need  to  turn  my  eyes  toward  him  to  know  that  there 
stood  Amherst.  He  little  thought  the  person  he  was 
addressing  in  suave  tones  had  been  the  small  boy  who 
had  seen  him  in  quite  other  quarters.  Some  years  after 
this,  I  saw  him  again,  seated  near  me  in  the  old 
Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  above  Sixth  Street,  and  con- 
versing with  Mr.  Davenport  the  aclor,  father  of  Fanny 
Davenport.  He  seemed  ageing  fast,  and  his  dress  was 
anything  but  new  and  fresh.  The  next  thing  I  heard 
was  that  he  had  died  in  the  almshouse  in  West  Phila- 
delphia. What  had  made  me  so  familiar  with  the  sound 
of  his  voice  was  that  when  I  saw'  him  for  the  second 
time  with  Mr.  Mortram,  Mrs.  Miller  had  insisted  on 
his  reading  something  aloud,  which  he  did  in  a  man- 
ner that  I  thought  enchanting.  I  had  never  heard  any- 
thing to  compare  to  it. 

The  changes  that  rapidly  succeed  one  another  as  time 
rolls  on,  are  as  unexpected  as  the  sudden  surprises  of 
the  kaleidoscope.  What  could  be  more  unlikely  than 
that  I  should  ever  again  meet  Mrs.  Miller?  Yet  I  did. 
In  the  course  of  years  I  had  become  an  artist, — or 
thought  I  had,  and  others  thought  so  too, — and  I  re- 
ceived a  commission  to  paint  a  lady's  portrait  in  water- 
colours,  which  if  successful  was  to  be  engraved.  For 
this  I  was  conducted  to  the  residence  of  Lady  Gresley, 
a  stone-fronted  house  on  the  south  side  of  Conduit 
Street,  a  few  doors  from  Regent  Street.  Who  should 

[83] 


REMINISCENCES 

the  sitter  be  but  Mrs.  Miller,  her  beauty  not  in  the 
least  impaired!  My  astonishment  may  be  imagined, 
but  I  was  careful  to  conceal  it,  and  she  of  course  could 
not  recognize  in  the  young  man  commissioned  to 
paint  her  portrait  the  little  boy  she  had  seen  in  the 
Marshalsea.  She  had  appeared  on  the  public  stage  in 
the  character  of  the  "Irish  Widow,"  with  the  hope  of 
adopting  the  theatrical  career  as  a  profession.  But  she 
had  so  much  yet  to  learn  that  Mr.  Elliston  would 
offer  her  no  more  than  two  pounds  per  week.  This 
came  to  the  knowledge  of  Lady  Gresley,  who  was 
so  indignant  thereat  that  she  forbade  her  acceptance 
of  the  paltry  salary,  and  declared  that  she  would 
rather  take  care  of  her  herself.  Thus  it  was  that  the 
would-be  actress  and  ex-inmate  of  the  Marshalsea 
came  to  be  domiciled  in  Conduit  Street. 
Years  after,  while  I  was  spending  an  evening  with  Mr. 
Charles  Toppan,  the  eminent  bank-note  engraver  of 
Philadelphia,  the  conversation  drifted  to  his  experi- 
ences in  London  when  he  was  young.  Among  other 
things  he  mentioned  having  met  there  the  most  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  lady  he  had  ever  seen  in  all  his  life. 
Before  he  had  time  to  name  her,  I  asked,  "Was  she 
not  a  Mrs.  Miller?"  Amazed,  he  answered  that  she 
was. 

But  I  think  the  most  remarkable  coincidence  of  a 
meeting  after  many  years  of  time,  and  when  thousands 
of  miles  of  space  had  intervened,  was  an  experience 

[84] 


ENGLAND 

told  me  by  David  Edwin,  the  distinguished  stipple 
engraver  of  Philadelphia.  When  he  was  a  boy  in  Lon- 
don he  was  in  the  Strand  early  one  morning,  standing 
on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  Northumberland  House, 
looking  up  St.  Martin's  Lane,  which  at  that  time 
ended  at  the  Strand  instead  of  at  St.  Martin's-in-the- 
Fields  as  now.  It  was  about  eight  o'clock,  the  atmo- 
sphere hazy  but  not  dense  enough  for  a  fog,  and  ap- 
parently nobody  about  yet,  for  London  hours  for  ris- 
ing are  much  later  than  in  Philadelphia.  To  his  great 
wonder  and  astonishment  he  saw  a  young  woman, 
entirely  nude,  issue  from  one  of  the  houses,  cross  the 
street  and  enter  a  house  on  the  opposite  side.  Long 
years  after,  in  Philadelphia,  he  was  in  company  one 
evening  with  a  group  of  merry  fellows  who  were  en- 
tertaining one  another  over  their  cups  with  gay  anec- 
dotes. "Now  I  will  tell  you  something,"  said  one, 
"that's  quite  out  of  common,  and  I  know  it  to  be  a 
fad;,  for  I  was  a  party  to  it  and  won  a  trifle  of  money 
over  it  on  a  bet.  A  lively  set  of  both  sexes  had  been 
to  the  Hay  market  Theatre  and  afterwards  to  a  supper 
at  a  house  in  St.  Martin's  Lane.  With  songs  and  sto- 
ries over  the  flowing  bowl,  we  kept  it  up  all  night 
until  daylight  surprised  us.  The  frolic  ended  in  a 
wager  that  one  of  the  women  should  cross  the  open 
street  divested  of  all  clothing.  She  was  dared  into 
doing  it  and  was  paid  handsomely."  Edwin  here  in- 
terposed and  told  them  the  year  and  month  of  the 

[85] 


REMINISCENCES 

occurrence.  The  narrator  was  amazed,  and  exclaimed, 
"That's  a  fact,  it  was  then;  but  how  in  the  world 
could  you  learn  it?"  "Why,  I  saw  it,"  said  Edwin.  He 
remembered  the  date  with  such  exactitude  because  it 
was  just  before  his  master,  a  Dutch  engraver,  took 
him  over  to  Amsterdam. 


[86] 


CHAPTER      VI 

turnpikes 

HE  number  of  hours  demanded  for  duty 
with  Mr.  Mortram  would  have  been  more 
fatiguing  but  for  the  amusement  inseparable 
from  the  nature  of  the  occupation,  and  I  should  have 
been  well  content  to  continue.  But  I  was  taken  from 
it  to  be  made  useful  where  my  hours  of  daily  service 
were  still  longer,  and  my  occupation  totally  void  of 
•entertainment.  Mr.  Goodland,  a  relative  of  ours,  was 
proprietor  of  the  turnpike  trust  of  the  lower  road 
from  Bermondsey  to  Deptford.  It  comprised  seven 
gates,  one  of  which  was  named  Gibraltar,  probably 
because  it  commanded  all  the  rest,  all  vehicles  from 
either  direction  having  to  pass  through  it,  there  being 
no  by-road  at  this  part.  For  this  reason  it  was  neces- 
sary to  have  a  trustworthy  person  there  to  check  off 
the  name  of  the  gate  at  which  toll  had  previously 
been  paid.  Mr.  Goodland  wanted  me  for  this  post, 
and  it  was  thus  I  came  to  be  removed  from  my  old 
employment  to  the  new.  But  I  very  soon  grew  tired 
of  my  occupation,  and  no  wonder,  for  my  hard  tasks 
left  me  so  little  time  for  natural  rest.  I  did  not  sleep 
at  Gibraltar,  there  being  no  accommodation  for  it,  but 
at  the  Butt  Lane  Gate,  Deptford.  I  had  to  be  off  to 

[87] 


REMINISCENCES 

my  post  before  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  my 
attention  must  never  flag  all  day,  or  my  record  against 
the  other  gates  would  be  imperfect.  Any  negligence 
was  apt  to  be  discovered,  as  each  gate  was  made  a 
check  against  the  others.  After  having  my  mind  on 
the  strain  all  day,  when  evening  came  I  had  to  walk 
from  Deptford  to  Bermondsey,  to  submit  my  daily 
record  to  a  close  scrutiny,  and  then  walk  back  to 
Deptford  and  get  the  little  sleep  the  time  left  me. 
The  complaint  of  Faust's  Margaret  about  fitted  my 

case: 

7  can  scarce  avail 

To  wake  so  early  and  to  sleep  so  late, 
And  then,  my  mother  is  in  each  detail 
So  accurate. 

My  need  of  rest  was  so  great  that  I  must  sometimes 
have  walked  nearly  the  whole  distance  fast  asleep, 
for  I  would  find  myself  at  my  destination  unable  to 
recollect  how  I  came  there.  Once  I  was  awakened  by 
coming  square  up  against  a  scaffold  pole,  and  once 
awoke  by  missing  the  accustomed  level  footing  of  the 
raised  sidewalk,  cut  down  to  the  level  of  the  road 
where  a  gate  gave  entrance  to  a  field.  I  tried  all  I  could 
to  be  relieved,  but  in  vain,  so,  growing  desperate,  at 
last  I  cut  the  knot  that  would  not  untie,  by  taking 
what  is  called  "French  leave."  Early  in  the  morning 
the  news  was  carried  to  headquarters  at  Dandy's  Gate, 
Bermondsey,  that  Gibraltar  was  without  a  garrison, 

[88] 


ENGLAND 

and  young  Charles  Goodland  posted  off  at  once  to 
my  mother  in  the  city,  and  there  found  the  runaway. 
When  I  had  related  my  grievances  and  hardships,  it 
was  seen  that  the  attempt  to  force  me  back  must  be 
abandoned. 

There  were  seven  gates  in  this  trust  of  the  lower 
Deptford  Road,  which  were  named  respectively  Lilli- 
put,  Dandy's,  Swan,  St.  Helena,  Commercial,  Gibral- 
tar, and  Butt  Lane.  The  tolls  levied  were  exorbitant, 
being  a  shilling  per  horse  attached  to  vehicles  with 
wheels  of  three  inch  tires,  eightpence  if  the  wheels 
were  of  double  that  breadth,  and  so  on.  Lilliput,  the 
first  gate  on  the  Bermondsey  end,  was  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  a  locality  made  famous  by  Dickens  in  Oliver 
tfwist,  Jacob's  Island,  where  Bill  Sykes  met  his  death 
after  the  murder  of  Nancy.  These  turnpike  trusts 
were  farmed  out  by  the  road  commissioners  to  the 
highest  responsible  bidder  that  could  also  be  backed 
up  by  acceptable  sureties,  and  it  was  thus  my  cousin 
Goodland  became  owner  of  the  lower  Deptford  Road 
trust.  But  so  far  as  the  region  immediately  around 
London  is  concerned,  they  have  long  been  a  thing  of 
the  past. 

In  connection  with  my  sleep-walking,  I  had  occasion 
to  mention  the  raised  sidewalk  for  foot  passengers  on 
that  portion  of  the  lower  Deptford  Road  where  it 
crossed  the  fields.  The  land  south  of  the  river  Thames 
was  generally  low  and  inclined  to  be  swampy,  includ- 

[89] 


REMINISCENCES 

ing  the  part  opposite  London,  then  known  as  St. 
George's  Fields.  The  turnpike  gate  on  the  West- 
minster Road,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  bridge  of  that  name,  was  known  as  the  Marsh 
gate,  a  significant  indication  of  the  marshy  character 
of  the  neighbourhood.  Mr.  Mortram,  the  pyrotech- 
nist, lived  almost  opposite  that  gate,  and  I  remember 
that  under  the  rotting  floor  of  the  back  kitchen  of  his 
house  was  discovered  a  large,  square  reservoir  of  wa- 
ter, evidently  framed  for  the  drainage  of  the  surround- 
ing earth.  I  saw  that  the  surface  of  the  water  was  not 
more  than  eight  inches  lower  than  the  under  side  of 
the  joists,  laid  across  it  for  the  support  of  the  new 
floor.  It  was  thus  made  clear  why  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  these  houses  was  raised  so  much  higher  than 
the  roadway.  The  basements  could  not  otherwise  have 
been  made  without  going  down  into  the  water.  This 
house  is  next  to  the  corner  of  what  was  known  as  the 
New  Cut,  which  ran  from  the  Westminster  Road  to 
the  Blackfriars  Road.  Midway  along  this  cut  ends  the 
long  line  of  brick  arches  built  to  support  the  sloping 
road  from  the  end  of  Waterloo  .  Bridge  down  to  the 
natural  level  at  the  New  Cut,  a  distance  very  little 
short  of  half  a  mile. 

One  of  my  early  memories,  is  of  an  old-time  place  of 
amusement,  near  Westminster  Bridge,  Astley's  Thea- 
tre, noted  for  its  equestrian  exhibitions.  Astley's  begin- 
ning before  the  public  as  a  performer  is  noteworthy, 

[90] 


ENGLAND 

considering  the  development  from  it  of  the  circus  of 
to-day,  with  its  four  rings  and  enormous  tent.  He  had 
been  groom  to  a  gentleman  who  was  fond  of  horses, 
and  when  they  separated  he  received  the  present  of 
a  fine  horse  from  his  patron.  With  this  animal  he 
made  daily  displays,  in  an  open  field,  of  his  remarkable 
skill  in  horsemanship,  performing  many  daring  feats, 
and  at  the  close  a  hat  was  passed  around  for  voluntary 
contributions.  His  advertisements  were  very  primitive, 
consisting  of  written  notices  tacked  on  to  the  trunks 
of  trees  here  and  there. 

With  such  a  beginning  he  could  not  be  expefted  to 
have  acquired  much  knowledge  of  the  arts  of  music 
and  painting,  but  both  of  these  were  necessary  adjuncts 
in  the  theatre  he  afterwards  owned.  It  is  told  of  him 
that  noticing  one  night  that  the  brass  wind  instru- 
ments in  his  orchestra  were  sometimes  silent,  he  de- 
manded the  reason.  He  was  told  there  was  a  rest, 
which  was  pointed  out  on  the  written  score.  He 
stormed  at  the  musicians.  "Rest!  I  don't  pay  you  for 
resting.  I  pay  you  for  playing.  Blow  away!"  In  paint- 
ing he  evidently  preferred  the  realistic  school.  His 
artist  was  engaged  in  decorating  the  proscenium  over 
the  front  of  the  stage  with  a  cluster  of  flags,  drums, 
trumpets,  cannon,  and  I  don't  know  what  all,  when 
Astley  called  to  the  painter  that  he  had  shown  but 
one  end  of  the  drum.  The  artist  explained  that  it  was 
not  possible  to  represent  it  otherwise.  "Nonsense!" 

[91  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

exclaimed  Astley.  "Suppose  a  real  drum  was  up  there, 
wouldn't  the  audience  on  this  side  see  one  end,  and 
wouldn't  the  audience  on  the  other  side  of  the  theatre 
see  the  other  end  ?  Now  I  want  it  done  as  if  there  was 
a  real  drum  up  there." 


[92] 


CHAPTER      VII 

Apprenticeship — William  Toimg  Ottley,  and  his  Friends, 
Rogers,  Leslie,  Lawrence,  Dihdin,  Douce,  and  Roscoe 

;T  had  been  necessary  that  I  should  be  in 
the  way  of  earning  money  after  my  father's 
death  and  my  mother's  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  carry  on  the  business.  But  now  my  grandmother 
at  Trowbridge  died,  leaving  us  her  estate,  and  this 
put  us  on  our  feet  again.  It  was  time  that  I  should 
select  some  occupation  for  my  life's  career,  and  as  I 
was  fond  of  drawing  and  devoted  myself  to  it  when- 
ever I  could  find  opportunity,  I  decided  to  learn  the 
art  of  engraving.  I  was  therefore  apprenticed  to  Mr. 
John  Swaine,  and  thus  at  the  age  of  fourteen  entered 
upon  the  profession  in  which  I  have  been  aftively  and 
incessantly  at  work  during  the  last  seventy-five  years. 
Mr.  Swaine  was  a  member  of  the  Merchant  Tailors' 
Company  in  Threadneedle  Street,  and  it  was  there 
that  I  was  indentured  to  him  in  February,  1823, 
becoming  by  means  of  that  process  a  "freeman  of  the 
city."  Now,  under  the  system  of  negro  slavery,  when 
a  transfer  of  property  in  the  person  occurred,  the 
price  was  paid  by  the  purchaser;  but  in  the  white 
slavery  termed  apprenticeship  the  payment  takes  the 
opposite  direction,  and  not  only  was  I  to  give  seven 

[93] 


REMINISCENCES 

years  of  my  time  without  compensation,  but  to  make 
a  payment  of  seventy  pounds  sterling  to  boot.  I  was 
to  be  taught  a  variety  of  branches  in  addition  to  pic- 
torial work, — heraldry,  letter  engraving,  and  so  forth. 
My  mother  thought  this  a  great  advantage,  and  I 
knew  no  better,  but  I  soon  learned  that  these  varieties 
involved  a  great  deal  of  drudgery.  Besides,  under  the 
old  regime,  the  duties  of  an  apprentice  included  the 
running  of  errands  or  any  menial  occupation  the  mas- 
ter ordered. 

Work  in  an  engraver's  jobbing  office  I  found  most 
unfavourable  for  artistic  progress.  The  apprentice's 
chief  occupation  was  cutting  names  on  door-plates, 
dog-collars,  trunk-plates,  and  some  still  rougher  work, 
and  my  practice  in  drawing  was  only  heraldry.  This 
training  gave  command  of  hand  and  rapid  certainty  of 
execution,  however,  and  between  whiles  I  applied  my- 
self diligently  to  practice  in  pictorial  work.  I  soon  began 
to  repine,  because  I  saw  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
me  to  acquire  enough  knowledge  and  experience  to 
follow  the  branch  of  regular  pictorial  engraving,  and 
that  my  seven  years  would  be  wasted,  as  well  as  the 
seventy  pounds  premium  that  had  been  paid. 
My  case  seemed  a  hopeless  one,  when  Mr.  William 
Young  Ottley  happened  to  see  one  or  two  of  my  little 
scraps  of  line  pradice,  and  commended  them.  The 
idea  occurred  to  him  to  use  me  to  carry  forward  to 
completion  a  work  he  had  begun  thirty  years  before 

[94] 


ENGLAND 

in  Rome,  if  he  could,  arrive  at  a  satisfactory  arrange- 
ment with  Mr.  Swaine  for  my  time.  This  project  was 
an  historical  sketch  of  the  early  Florentine  school,  not 
in  words,  but  in  examples  of  the  compositions  of  the 
best  artists  through  two  centuries  and  a  half,  from 
Cimabue  in  1360  down  to  Luca  Signorelli  in  1500, 
arranged  in  chronological  order.  Terms  were  agreed 
upon,  and  it  was  a  splendid  piece  of  good  fortune  for 
me.  Mr.  Ottley  was  known  in  the  literary  world  not 
only  as  the  most  learned  antiquary  in  all  matters  re- 
lating to  art,  more  especially  Italian  art,  but  also  as  an 
accomplished  artist  himself,  though  amateur  only.  I 
could  not  have  fallen  into  better  hands. 
This  work  in  folio,  'The  Early  Florentine  School,  pub- 
lished complete  in  1826,  had  been  planned  and  act- 
ually commenced  in  1792;  some  of  the  plates  after 
Giotto  having  been  then  engraved  by  Tomaso  Piroli. 
They  were  done  from  drawings  by  Humbert,  an  artist 
employed  by  Mr.  Ottley  to  copy  the  pictures  he  had 
selected,  it  being  then  long  before  photography  was 
even  dreamed  of.  Progress  ceased,  however,  very  soon 
after  it  had  begun,  and  it  might  never  have  been  re- 
sumed but  for  the  arrangement  for  utilizing  my  ser- 
vices. I  began  work  upon  the  plates  in  1823,  and  con- 
tinued at  it  twenty  months.  During  that  time,  I  en- 
graved throughout  eighteen  of  the  plates,  and  worked 
up  to  finish  fourteen  others  left  incomplete  by  Piroli. 
Several  of  Piroli's  plates  I  had  to  alter  considerably, 

[95] 


REMINISCENCES 

scooping  out  parts  and  punching  up  from  the  back 
on  an  anvil  before  proceeding  to  finish,  so  that  I  be- 
came quite  expert.  A  Nativity  by  Sandro  Botticelli,  I 
engraved  from  the  original  picture,  owned  by  Mr. 
Ottley,  and  worked  it  up  to  its  full  effect.  The  others 
were  from  Humbert's  drawings. 

Three  of  the  plates  I  engraved  throughout  before  I 
was  fifteen,  two  being  after  Benozzo  Gozzoli:  Abra- 
ham entertaining  the  Angels,  and  a  group  from  a  wall  in 
the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa.  The  third  was  after  Giotto. 
The  last  three  I  did  were  from  Luca  Signorelli,  after 
his  frescoes  in  the  Duomo  at  Orvieto :  T/ie  flicked  de- 
stroyed at  the  End  of  the  World,  a  group  of  demons  from 
his  Inferno,  and  a  group  of  angels  from  his  picture  of 
heaven.  I  also  engraved  from  the  facade  of  the  same 
cathedral  a  sculptured  group  by  Niccola  Pisano,  and 
I  have  since  seen  the  originals  at  Orvieto.  Masaccio, 
Filippo  Lippi,  Donatello  and  others  were  among  the 
artists  I  copied. 

This  delightful  work  was  performed  amidst  charming 
surroundings,  of  themselves  an  education.  My  engrav- 
ing table  stood  in  the  corner  of  a  picture  gallery,  the 
walls  covered  with  admirable  paintings  by  great  mas- 
ters. If  I  raised  my  eyes  from  my  work  to  the  south 
wall  opposite,  there  was  a  first-class  Rembrandt,  a 
nude  woman  seated,  an  old  woman  wiping  her  feet 
after  a  bath.  It  is  now  in  the  La  Caze  Gallery  of  the 
Louvre.  To  the  left  was  a  Domenichino  of  Cephalus 

[96] 


ENGLAND 

and  Aurora,  figures  larger  than  life.  To  the  right  of  the 
Rembrandt  a  large  pidure  of  "The  Battle  of  the  Angels,  a 
noble  composition  by  Mr.  Ottley  himself,  painted  in 
black  and  white,  evidenced  consummate  mastery  in 
drawing  the  nude  figure.  It  was  his  intention  to  paint 
over  it  in  solid  colour,  but  whether  he  ever  did  I  do 
not  know.  A  line  of  works  of  lesser  dimensions  occu- 
pied the  space  beneath,  among  them  a  Guido,  a  Sche- 
done,  a  Correggio  study  in  oils,  a  Giorgione,  and  in 
the  middle  an  antique  torso  of  a  Cupid,  not  unlike  the 
marble  known  as  The  Genius  of  the  Vatican. 
On  the  west  wall,  opposite  the  fireplace,  and  over  the 
Print  Cabinets,  was,  among  other  large  pictures,  a  very 
large  Titian,  a  Madonna  and  Child  with  landscape  back- 
ground. Just  back  of  where  I  sat,  was  another  Titian, 
The  Rape  of  Europa,  a  beautiful  piclure  of  captivating 
colour,  and  lighter  in  general  tone  than  any  other  work 
of  his  I  have  seen.  Below  the  Titian,  and  level  with  the 
eye,  was  the  Nativity  of  Sandro  Botticelli.  It  was  a  tall 
upright;  in  the  sky  over  the  straw-thatched  stable  was 
a  circle  of  rejoicing  angels,  and  in  the  lower  portion 
groups  of  angels  embracing  men.  I  engraved  a  plate  of 
the  middle  portion  only,  that  is,  of  the  Nativity  proper, 
copying  it  just  where  it  hung,  and  it  is  numbered  the 
fiftieth  plate  of  the  series  in  the  completed  folio  work. 
On  the  west  side  of  the  door  of  entrance  was  a  large 
Salvator  Rosa,  St.  George,  pouring  upon  the  Dragon 
some  liquid  from  a  bottle.  Over  these  hung  two  large 

7  [97] 


REMINISCENCES 

Bassanos  that  extended  across  the  whole  width  of  the 
gallery,  the  subjects  of  course  treated  after  his  accus- 
tomed manner,  but  the  colouring  very  rich  and  fine, 
although  dark.  Both  recesses  on  each  side  of  the  fire- 
place were  filled  with  books.  To  reach  this  gallery 
from  the  dwelling  the  way  was  through  another  smaller 
gallery,  also  lighted  from  above,  the  walls  of  which 
were  covered  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  pictures  by  the 
old  pre-Raphaelite  artists,  which  Mr.  Ottley  had  col- 
lected in  Italy  during  the  latter  part  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. Most  of  them  were  taken  from  churches  during 
the  occupation  by  the  French  soldiery,  and  but  for 
Mr.  Ottley's  intervention  might  have  been  destroyed. 
Now  to  spend  twenty  months  in  a  room  starred  with 
pictures  such  as  I  have  attempted  to  describe,  was  a 
great  privilege  which  I  did  not  fail  to  appreciate.  But 
in  addition  was  the  instruction  I  was  constantly  re- 
ceiving from  Mr.  Ottley  himself,  in  superintending 
and  directing  my  work,  and  last,  not  least,  the  conver- 
sation of  the  eminent  men  who  visited  such  a  man  as 
Mr.  Ottley.  Among  them  were  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence, 
President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  Samuel  Rogers,  the 
poet-banker,  Thomas  Roscoe,  Charles  R.  Leslie,  R. 
A.,  Thomas  Frognall  Dibdin,  the  bibliographer, 
Francis  Douce,  the  antiquary,  Rev.  William  Long, 
Frazer,  Lloyd  and  others. 

Samuel  Rogers,  the  poet-banker,  was  one  of  Mr.  Ott- 
ley's  most  frequent  visitors,  and  from  his  appearance 

[98] 


ENGLAND 

I  guessed  him  to  be  about  sixty.  He  had  not  yet  pub- 
lished that  superb  volume  illustrated  by  Stothard  and 
Turner,  Italy,  nor  the  companion  volume,  illustrated 
by  the  same  artists,  his  Miscellaneous  Poems,  which  at 
the  sale  of  Mrs.  Morgan's  rich  collection  in  New  York 
brought  seventy  dollars  for  each  volume. 
There  was  one  peculiarity  about  his  face  that  drew  my 
attention:  the  sockets  of  his  eyes  were  rather  deep- 
sunk,  so  that  the  edges  of  the  cheek-bones  were  very 
definitely  marked,  and  yet  the  eye  in  the  centre  was 
itself  prominent,  forming  altogether  a  sort  of  cone. 
Under  excitement  the  expression  was  peculiar,  which 
was  rare,  however,  because  ordinarily  he  was  mild  and 
equable.  But  one  day  his  host  brought  out  for  his  de- 
leftation  a  portfolio  of  choice  mediaeval  paintings,  col- 
leded  from  richly  illuminated  missals  and  other  simi- 
larly decorated  works.  They  were  each  mounted  sep- 
arately on  very  thick  card-board  and  were  rare,  splen- 
did and  valuable,  and  made  a  heavy  pile  in  a  single 
folio.  Rogers's  fine  taste  was  much  gratified  by  such  a 
treat,  and  he  gave  frequent  utterance  to  the  pleasure 
he  experienced.  All  at  once  a  vexatious  surprise  oc- 
curred, startling  those  in  the  gallery  by  its  sudden 
noise.  Owing  to  a  thoughtless  way  of  placing  the  folio, 
it  overbalanced  and  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  resounding 
plunge,  to  the  detriment  of  the  corners  of  some  of 
the  mountings,  and  possibly  to  some  of  the  minia- 
tures. Rogers  had  placed  the  folio  flat  on  the  table, 

[99] 


REMINISCENCES 

but  with  the  empty  leaf  projecting  beyond  its  edge. 
As  he  examined  the  pictures,  one  by  one,  he  laid' each 
precious  gem  with  tender,  care  on  the  opposite  side, 
until  the  increasing  weight  brought  about  the  catas- 
trophe. The  mortification  seen  in  those  curious  goggle- 
eyes  of  his  could  not  be  forgotten. 
I  have  a  good  portrait  of  Rogers,  copied  from  a  deli- 
cate drawing  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence.  It  is  an  unmis- 
takable likeness,  but  as  the  Academy  President  always 
worked  for  beauty,  not  only  in  ladies*  faces  but  also  in 
those  of  men,  such  a  peculiarity  as  I  have  referred  to 
would  be  softened  down  to  disappearance.  The  outline 
etching  of  Rogers  by  Maclise,  published  in  Fraser,  is 
like,  though  bordering  on  caricature.  Rogers  was  re- 
markable for  his  exquisitely  refined  taste,  almost  ap- 
proaching fastidiousness,  so  that  of  the  multitudinous 
collection  of  art  objects  he  possessed  none  were  of 
doubtful  quality.  I  am  told  that  in  order  to  render 
perfect  the  volume  of  his  Italy  >  with  its  superb  illus- 
trations, he  expended  on  it  no  less  than  ^  10,000,  and 
on  the  subsequent  volume  of  his  Poems,  ^5,000. 
On  one  occasion  I  remember  Charles  R.  Leslie,  our 
Philadelphia  Royal  Academician,  standing  before  Mr. 
Ottley's  grand  picture  of  The  Battle  of  the  Angels. 
After  commending  the  composition  and  effect,  and 
more  particularly  the  masterly  drawing  of  the  individ- 
ual nude  figures,  he  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity  it  was 
not  in  colour.  Mr.  Ottley  said  that  it  had  been  his  in- 


. 


ENGLAND 

tention  from  the  beginning  to  paint  it  in  colour;  this 
was  only  the  preparation.  Leslie  said  it  would  not  do 
to  work  on  that  same  canvas.  "Why  not?"  was  asked 
in  surprise.  "Because  it  would  be  impossible  to  con- 
quer that  intensely  cold  black  and  white/'  said  Leslie. 
Leslie  as  a  boy  started  in  Bradford's  bookstore  in 
Philadelphia,  but  his  predilection  for  art  often  found 
vent  in  sketches,  the  most  remarkable  of  these  being 
three  coloured  drawings  of  Cooke,  the  aclor,  that  are 
still  preserved  in  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the 
Fine  Arts,  one  as  FalstafF,  one  as  Richard  the  Third, 
and  the  other  as  Othello.  A  subscription  was  imme- 
diately raised  to  enable  him  to  go  to  London  to  study 
regularly  for  the  profession,  and  to  receive  advice 
and  guidance  from  such  men  as  Benjamin  West  and 
Washington  Allston.  He  studied  diligently  and  pro- 
gressed rapidly.  One  of  his  first  successes  was  the 
charming  piclure  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  and  the  Spec- 
tator going  to  Church,  the  background  to  the  figures  be- 
ing a  view  of  Chingford  Church,  Essex,  near  Epping 
Forest.  I  possess  a  facsimile  of  Leslie's  sepia  drawing 
from  nature  of  that  ivy-covered  building.  In  1826  I 
was  one  Sunday  in  this  interesting  church,  then  in  fair 
condition  and  used  for  weekly  services.  I  went  up  into 
the  pulpit  and  saw  on  the  cushionless  pine  desk  a  Bible 
secured  by  a  chain.  I  went  to  see  the  church  again  in 
1888,  but  time  had  worn  it  into  a  ruin. 
When  Leslie  was  about  to  depart  for  London,  Sully 


REMINISCENCES 

gave  him  some  instructions  and  showed  him  how  to 
set  a  palette,  for  which  the  young  student  was  very 
thankful,  and  said  he  did  -not  know  how  he  could  ever 
repay  such  kindness.  To  this  Sully  answered,  "When 
you  have  attained  that  position  in  art  which  I  predict 
for  you,  I  in  turn  will  ask  your  instruction."  During 
the  first  year  of  the  reign  of  Victoria,  Sully  went  to 
London  and  painted  the  whole  length  portrait  of  the 
Queen  from  life,  for  the  St.  George  Society  of  Phila- 
delphia, for  which  she  had  consented  to  sit.  Sully  then 
reminded  Leslie  of  the  incident  of  the  latter's  boy- 
hood, and  asked  him  to  say  frankly  how  his  pictures 
struck  him.  "Frankly  then,"  said  Leslie,  "they  look 
too  much  as  if  one  could  blow  them  away."  This  was 
told  me  by  Sully  himself. 

In  1841  Leslie  painted  for  me  a  portrait  of  my  father- 
in-law,  Mr.  Swaine,  and  it  still  hangs  in  my  library  as 
fresh  and  as  beautiful  as  the  day  on  which  it  was  fin- 
ished. Henry  C.  Carey,  the  eminent  writer  on  political 
economy,  married  a  sister  of  the  artist,  and  there  are 
some  of  his  pictures  in  the  Carey  collection  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  which  came 
through  that  connection. 

Thomas  Roscoe  used  to  come  to  Ottley's  gallery,  and 
frequently  it  was  to  ask  assistance  in  his  translation 
from  the  Italian  of  Lanzi,  on  which  he  was  then  en- 
gaged. He  would  be  perplexed  to  find  the  exact  mean- 
ing of  certain  words  or  phrases  that  occurred  in  refer- 

[    102] 


ENGLAND 

ence  to  purely  art  matters,  which  Mr.  Ottley  under- 
stood from  having  lived  so  long  in  Italian  art  circles, 
himself  a  devoted  student  of  art,  though  an  amateur 
only.  Roscoe  was  a  most  agreeable  man,  and  the  con- 
versations I  frequently  heard  between  the  two  con- 
cerning Italian  art  were  highly  instructive  as  well  as 
entertaining,  and  it  was  evident  the  translation  gained 
much  by  Roscoe's  application  to  Ottley.  The  latter 
had  himself,  in  former  years,  begun  a  translation  of 
Lanzi,  but  dropped  it  after  making  considerable  pro- 
gress. 

Francis  Douce,  the  antiquary,  was  another  of  the  fre- 
quent visitors.  He  had  a  loud  voice  and  used  it  in  a 
dictatorial  way,  as  if  those  he  talked  to  were  of  small 
account  and  hardly  worth  his  notice.  Mr.  Ottley  had 
a  large  table  in  the  middle  of  the  gallery,  on  which 
was  an  accumulation  of  all  kinds  of  things, — books, 
drawings,  prints,  and  what  not, — piled  on  one  another 
in  a  confused  way  as  if  valueless.  One  day  Douce 
noticed  in  the  heap  some  very  curious  old  ivory  carv- 
ings, flat  plates  like  book  covers,  and  after  examining 
one  or  two  asked  Mr.  Ottley  what  he  supposed  they 
were  for.  He  replied  that  he  did  not  know.  Douce 
pitched  them  from  him  as  if  scornfully,  but  after 
awhile  proposed  to  buy  them.  The  owner,  after  a 
minute's  thought,  said,  "If  they  are  worth  ten  gui- 
neas to  you,  you  can  have  them."  The  purchaser 
discovered  a  small  vacant  space  on  the  table,  and  I 

[  103] 


REMINISCENCES 

saw  him  count  out  ten  shillings  in  addition  to  the  ten 
sovereigns,  and  he  carried  off  the  ivories.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  eight  or  ten  of  them.  On  the  occasion 
of  a  subsequent  visit  he  mentioned  that  he  had  dis- 
covered their  use.  They  were  the  ornamental  backs 
to  ladies'  hand  mirrors.  He  possessed  a  large  collec- 
tion of  valuable  manuscripts  and  other  objects  that 
are  kept  in  a  sealed  box  in  the  British  Museum,  not 
to  be  opened  until  the  first  day  of  the  next  century. 
At  another  time  he  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
Mr.  Ottley's  folio  book,  The  Italian  School  of  Design,  an 
admirable  and  costly  work  containing  engraved  fac- 
similes of  drawings  by  the  most  celebrated  old  masters. 
After  commenting  on  those  by  Raphael  done  with  the 
silver  point  (made  of  the  pure  metal  without  alloy,  and 
used  before  the  introduction  of  lead  pencils)  and  con- 
trasting these,  his  early  works,  with  the  larger,  bolder 
drawings  with  pen  or  crayon,  he  was  led  to  talk  about 
the  large  debt  this  artist  owed  to  Michael  Angelo. 
Raphael  had  suddenly  changed  his  style  from  what  is 
termed  his  second,  to  his  last,  broader  and  grander 
manner,  obviously  the  result  of  having  seen  the  vault 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel  while  in  progress.  Mr.  Ottley 
had  proved  in  the  work  referred  to  that  the  chapel 
was  opened  one  year  earlier  than  all  writers  agree  in 
dating  it.  Douce  exclaimed,  "What  the  devil  does  it 
matter  whether  it  was  opened  a  year  earlier  or  a  year 
later,  in  1511  or  1512  ?  It  was  on  All  Saints'  Day,  and 

C   104  ] 


ENGLAND 

that's  sufficient."  Mr.  Ottley  explained  that  it  mat- 
tered a  great  deal,  as  on  that  hinged  the  decision  of 
the  question  of  how  Raphael  improved  his  manner 
all  at  once,  and  proved  that  credit  should  be  given 
to  his  sight  of  his  great  rival's  work.  Vasari  recorded 
the  day  of  the  public  opening  of  the  chapel,  but 
neglected  to  state  the  year.  This  time  Douce  bought 
the  book,  paying  down  twelve  guineas,  the  price  of 
it.  Money  was  of  small  account  with  him,  for  he  had 
the  heaped-up  savings  of  the  miserly  sculptor  Nol- 
lekens,  who  bequeathed  his  fortune  to  him. 
There  was  one  visitor  whose  entrance  always  gave 
me  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  and  that  was  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence,  the  President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  who 
never  came  till  late  in  the  afternoon.  When  he  first 
took  notice  of  me,  he  came  around  into  my  corner 
and  asked  me  what  I  was  doing.  I  replied  that  it  was 
Donatello's  bas-relief  on  the  pulpit  of  the  Church 
of  San  Lorenzo  at  Florence,  Christ  taken  down  from  the 
Cross.  He  examined  my  plate  attentively  and  exclaimed, 
"Ha  !  I  possess  the  artist's  first  sketch  for  this  bronze, 
but  it's  a  good  deal  changed  from  his  original  design." 
He  spoke  some  very  kind  and  encouraging  words 
about  my  work.  In  conversation  the  tones  of  his  voice 
were  very  pleasant  to  the  ear, — soft  and  low, — and 
the  language  was  marked  by  simplicity  and  directness. 
I  once  heard  him  comment  on  the  large  Titian  on 
the  east  wall.  Standing  on  the  hearth  with  his  back 

C  105] 


REMINISCENCES 

to  the  fire,  his  hands  behind  him,  he  analyzed  its 
various  qualities,  expressing  admiration  especially  for 
the  breadth  of  treatment. 

The  Donatello  drawing  he  referred  to  had  been  copied 
in  facsimile  in  Ottley's  Italian  School  of  Design,  folio, 
published  complete  in  1823.  This  is  a  splendid  work 
and  contains  as  many  as  eighty-four  exact  repro- 
ductions of  original  drawings  by  the  best  masters, 
those  by  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  being  the 
most  numerous.  They  formed  a  part,  but  a  very  small 
part,  of  the  great  collection  formerly  owned  by  Mr. 
Ottley,  and  purchased  from  him  by  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  at  a  cost  of  ^8,000.  The  combined  accu- 
mulation of  works  of  this  character,  obtained  by  Law- 
rence from  various  sources,  surpassed  in  quantity  and 
quality  the  united  collections  of  all  the  crowned  heads 
of  Europe  put  together.  It  was  the  great  ambition  of 
the  artist's  life  to  enrich  the  nation  with  this  vast 
collection  of  original  works,  unique,  and  beyond  com- 
parison, his  own  name  as  founder  to  be  permanently 
associated  with  it.  This  noble  purpose  failed  of  its 
accomplishment  because  of  the  liberal  and  careless 
way  in  which  he  spent  his  earnings,  involving  him 
in  debt  beyond  his  ability  to  pay.  Unable  to  realize 
the  project  himself,  he  yet  trusted  to  its  being  carried 
out  by  others  after  his  death,  and  with  that  hope  he 
devised  that  the  king,  George  the  Fourth,  might  have 
the  collection  for  a  sum  considerably  below  half  what 

[  106] 


ENGLAND 

it  had  cost,  and  if  his  Majesty  declined  it,  Sir  Robert 
Peel  might  take  it  at  a  still  less  sum.  Neither  of  them 
being  possessed  of  sufficient  largeness  of  heart  or 
patriotism,  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  let  this  won- 
derful collection  be  again  scattered,  through  the  hands 
of  dealers,  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth,  beyond 
the  possibility  of  ever  being  reassembled. 
I  remember  hearing  Mr.  Ottley  once  speak  to  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence  with  an  inflection  of  dissatisfaction. 
At  the  annual  dinner  of  the  academicians,  immedi- 
ately following  the  death  of  Henry  Fuseli,  the  presi- 
dent made  no  allusion  to  the  loss  the  Royal  Academy 
had  sustained.  Mr.  Ottley  expressed  his  surprise  in 
tones  that  sounded  to  me  like  a  reproach,  but  Law- 
rence excused  his  omission  by  saying  that  he  had  felt 
afraid  it  might  not  be  well  received. 
Dr.  Thomas  Frognall  Dibdin,  the  bibliographer,  I  do 
not  remember  much  about,  except  that  he  was  a  lively 
little  man  of  fifty  who  spoke  rapidly,  laughed  heartily, 
and  skipped  about  like  a  youth,  although  his  face 
indicated  middle  age  at  least. 

When  my  labours  on  the  plates  for  The  Early  Flor- 
entine School  were  finished,  I  obtained  permission  to 
draw  from  the  antique  marbles  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum four  hours  each  week,  and  it  was  then  that  I 
ate  my  lunch  sitting  on  the  large  black  stone  now  so 
carefully  guarded,  that  then  lay  on  the  floor  of  the 
Egyptian  department,  the  Rosetta  Stone. 

[  107  j 


CHAPTER      VIII 

William  Blake  and  John  Farley 

Y  first  knowledge  of  the  works  of  William 
Blake  and  my  admiration  of  certain  qualities 
in  them  came  through  an  introduction  to 
Mr.  John  Varley,  the  eminent  painter  in  water  colours. 
In  his  gallery  and  studio  I  saw  the  entire  series  of  the 
illustrations  of  The  Book  of  Job  each  framed  sepa- 
rately and  hanging  side  by  side  in  one  continuous  line 
on  the  north  wall  of  the  room.  They  were  suspended 
level  with  the  eye,  a  great  comfort  on  account  of  the 
minute  character  of  the  engraving,  which  was  done 
with  a  knife-like  tool,  not  with  the  ordinary  graver  or 
burin,  and  was  entirely  devoid  of  the  customary  pre- 
paration of  etching.  Blake  engraved  all  the  text  of  the 
book  in  the  same  way  when  he  published  it,  for  he 
could  not  afford  to  pay  a  compositor  to  set  it  up  in 
type. 

Mr.  Varley  was  a  remarkably  frank  and  pleasant  gen- 
tleman, an  enthusiast  in  whatever  subjects  interested 
him,  and  the  three  most  prominent  of  these  were  his 
landscape-art,  astrology,  and  the  works  of  Blake.  His 
conversation  was  always  interesting  and  instructive;  he 
talked  rapidly  and  never  ceased  washing-in  on  his  pic- 
ture the  while.  When  I  first  saw  him,  he  welcomed  me 

[  108] 


ENGLAND 

in  the  warmest  manner,  and  after  a  brief  conversation 
invited  me  to  look  around  at  the  works  on  the  walls. 
He  occupied  a  long  room  lighted  from  above  without 
windows  on  the  sides,  which  was  reached  through  a 
long  passage,  the  entrance  door  being  on  Tichfield 
Street.  Over  the  Blake  prints  hung  large  pictures  in 
water  colours  by  himself,  just  returned  from  exhibi- 
tions. The  subjects  were  The  Bride  of  Ahydos,  The 
Destruction  of  Tyre,  and  The  Grave  of  Thomson.  This 
last,  a  most  beautiful  view,  illustrated  the  lines  by 

Collins, 

In  yonder  grave  a  Druid  lies, 

Where  slowly  winds  the  stealing  wave, 
The  year's  best  sweets  shall  duteous  rise 
To  deck  its  foefs  sylvan  grave" 

Besides  these  water-colours,  there  was  on  another  wall 
a  large  picture  in  oils  by  him,  of  a  scene  extremely 
solemn  and  grand,  a  funeral  procession.  It  was  either 
The  Burial  of  Saul  or  a  subject  suggested  by  the  music 
of  a  dirge  bearing  that  title. 

I  was  deeply  impressed  with  the  prints  by  Blake,  and 
having  examined  the  whole  twenty-one  most  carefully, 
I  raised  my  eyes  to  an  unframed  canvas  on  the  wall 
above,  at  the  end  of  the  line  of  prints.  It  appeared  to 
be  a  regular  25^30  portrait  size,  turned  horizontal, 
giving  space  for  two  life-size  heads  painted  side  by 
side.  One  was  of  a  man  of  a  clear,  pinkish  complexion, 
with  short  red  hair  in  crisp  curls,  negro-like  in  charac- 

[   109  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

ter  but  not  in  colour,  the  entire  head  as  round  as  a  ball. 
The  other,  to  the  right  of  the  first,  was  of  a  totally 
different  type.  The  large  portion  of  the  face  was  in 
deep  shadow  from  the  raised  visor  of  the  helmet  that 
encased  the  head,  and  from  out  of  this  shadow  the 
eyes  glared  unpleasantly.  The  canvas  was  bare  except 
where  the  heads  were  painted,  and  these  looked  as  if 
done  in  oil,  but  were  not  so,  for  Blake,  like  Michael 
Angelo,  despised  that  medium.  He  preferred  to  use 
glue-water  as  a  vehicle  for  his  pigments.  Under  the 
heads  was  written  in  lead-pencil  two  lines,  as  follows, 
as  near  as  I  can  recoiled::  "William  Wallace  appeared 
and  stayed  long  enough  for  me  to  paint  this  portrait 
of  him,  when  King  Edward  the  First  took  his  place 
and  I  painted  him  also.  He  promised  to  come  again 
and  bring  his  wife  and  children.  W.  Blake."  I  read 
this  to  myself  once  or  twice  and  was  puzzled,  when 
Varley,  perceiving  my  perplexity,  said:  "I  see  you 
don't  understand  that  writing,  but  it  is  true.  Wallace 
did  really  appear  to  Blake,  and  that  portrait  was 
painted  from  him,  and  the  other  also  is  a  faithful  por- 
trait of  King  Edward  painted  as  he  saw  him.  Come 
this  way  and  look  at  this  little  picture  on  the  mantel- 
piece." I  did  as  I  was  bid  and  took  it  in  my  hand,  for 
it  stood  loose  and  appeared  to  be  painted  on  a  kind 
of  cardboard.  Varley  said  it  represented  the  spirit  of  a 
flea.  It  was  a  profile  view  of  a  finely  drawn  human 
figure  in  all  but  the  head,  which  was  that  of  a  flea;  in 

[   no] 


ENGLAND 

his  left  hand,  the  one  toward  the  spectator,  was  a  small 
bowl  filled  to  the  brim  with  blood,  which  he  held  for- 
ward as  if  showing  it  to  some  one  not  within  the  field 
of  the  picture.  The  entire  painting  was  dark,  but  the 
background  became  less  so  near  the  figure,  so  that  the 
form,  still  darker,  had  relief.  The  strongly-developed 
muscles  were  partially  covered  with  bronze-like  scales, 
that  had  a  dim  gloss  in  the  lights,  and  in  some  parts 
bristling  hairs  grew  out  between  them. 
Blake  made  the  illustrations  for  a  folio  edition  of 
Young's  Night  thoughts,  and  engraved  them  also. 
Afterwards,  for  Cromek,  he  illustrated  Blair's  Grave, 
and  was  greatly  disappointed  when  the  engraving  was 
confided  to  the  Italian  Schiavonetti,  an  excellent  artist 
whose  modern  style  of  work  was  more  acceptable  to 
the  public  than  that  of  Blake.  He  had  received  but 
twenty  guineas  for  his  thirteen  designs,  and  reckoned 
upon  his  earnings  on  the  engraving  to  make  the  com- 
mission more  profitable.  His  ill-will  toward  Cromek 
was  greatly  increased  by  the  publisher's  having  broken 
an  alleged  engagement  in  connection  with  the  picture, 
illustrating  Chaucer,  The  Pilgrimage  to  Canterbury.  He 
claimed  that  he  had  made  considerable  progress  on 
the  painting  of  that  subject  when  Cromek  saw  it  and 
proposed  to  publish  an  engraving  of  it,  using  language 
that  Blake  interpreted  as  equivalent  to  an  order.  But 
Cromek  instead  used  his  idea  and  gave  a  commission 
for  the  picture  to  Stothard,  whose  style  of  art  was 


REMINISCENCES 

more  captivating  than  Blake's.  He  afterwards  engaged 
Schiavonetti  to  engrave  it,  but  the  latter  died  just  as 
he  had  completed  the  superb  preparatory  etching  (of 
which  I  possess  a  proof),  and  the  plate  was  finished 
by  James  Heath. 

Various  statements  have  been  published  as  to  this 
transfer  of  the  order  from  Blake  to  Stothard,  Cromek 
denying  that  he  had  ever  led  the  former  to  expect  an 
order  of  the  kind.  I  chance  to  know  the  cause,  which 
has  never  appeared  till  now.  I  had  it  from  the  lips 
of  Henry  Richter,  whose  pupil  I  was  for  eight  months 
in  1827—28,  and  whose  father  was  really  at  the  bottom 
of  the  affair.  Richter,  the  worker  in  scagliola,  and 
Stothard  and  Cromek  were  all  neighbours  in  Newman 
Street,  Oxford  Street.  Richter  wanted  to  get  his  son 
Henry  into  Stothard's  studio  as  a  pupil,  and  in  order 
to  lay  the  latter  under  an  obligation,  he  induced 
Cromek  to  give  the  commission  as  he  did.  Stothard, 
however,  declined  to  receive  the  son,  and  when  the 
elder  Richter  reproached  him  for  being  ungrateful, 
Stothard  replied  that  teaching  was  not  in  his  line,  or 
words  to  that  effect. 

The  fact  is,  Stothard  had  little  enough  to  be  grateful 
for,  beyond  the  opportunity  of  increasing  his  artistic 
reputation.  For  this  beautiful  picture  he  received  only 
sixty  guineas.  Cromek  agreed  to  augment  that  sum 
to  a  hundred  if  the  artist  would  work  on  it  another 
month  and  carry  it  on  to  finer  finish.  The  time  and 

[    I'*] 


ftJe 


CQ 


ENGLAND 

finish  were  given,  but  the  additional  pay  never  came. 
The  publisher  subsequently  sold  the  piclure,  it  is  said, 
for  three  hundred  guineas,  but  the  younger  Stothard 
told  his  wife,  afterwards  Mrs.  Bray,  that  he  knew 
positively  that  the  sum  was  five  hundred. 
The  irritated  Blake  went  on  with  his  picture  of  the 
Pilgrimage  and  when  finished  exhibited  it  along  with 
other  of  his  works,  and  printed  a  descriptive  catalogue 
which  I  have  read  in  a  copy  Richter  had  preserved. 
Some  passages  in  it  are  provocative  of  laughter;  wit- 
ness the  following  in  reference  to  his  rival's  picture. 
"That  painter  has  represented  Chaucer  himself  as  a 
knave  who  thrusts  himself  among  honest  people  to 
make  game  of  and  laugh  at  them,  though  I  must  do 
justice  to  the  painter  and  say  that  he  has  made  him 
look  more  like  a  fool  than  a  knave."  .  .  .  "The 

scene   of  Mr.   S 's  picture  is   by  Dulwich  Hills, 

which  was  not  the  way  to  Canterbury;  but  perhaps 
the  painter  thought  he  would  give  them  a  ride  round 
about,  because  they  were  a  burlesque  set  of  scare- 
crows, not  worth  any  man's  respect  or  care." 
Stothard's  portrait  of  Chaucer  in  the  group  is  anything 
but  what  Blake's  spite  represents,  and  was  copied  from 
authentic  material  in  the  British  Museum.  The  land- 
scape background  which  Blake  terms  the  Dulwich 
Hills  was  sketched  by  Stothard  from  nature  some- 
where on  the  road  near  Peckham,  which  is  on  the  way 
to  Canterbury. 

8  [  us  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

I  never  saw  Blake,  but  I  did  see  his  widow.  My  friend 
Tatham,  the  sculptor,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart  took 
her  for  his  housekeeper,  and  on  my  visiting  him  she 
opened  the  street  door  to  me.  I  don't  know  what  would 
have  become  of  her  in  her  age  and  poverty  but  for  this 
timely  refuge  offered  after  the  death  of  her  husband. 
It  has  been  asserted  of  John  Varley  that  he  accepted 
money  for  the  casting  of  horoscopes.  I  do  not  believe 
it  from  what  I  know  in  connection  with  his  astrologi- 
cal diversions.  Mine  he  cast,  and  I  have  it  in  his  own 
writing,  still  preserved.  One  of  his  studies  was  what  he 
termed  zodiacal  physiognomy,  which  was  perfected 
into  a  complete  system;  the  theory  being  that  not 
only  was  a  person's  career  in  life  influenced  and  in 
large  measure  controlled  by  the  position  of  the  stars 
at  the  hour  of  his  birth,  but  also  that  the  character 
of  his  face,  figure,  and  temperament  was  stamped  and 
fixed  at  the  same  instant.  For  example,  the  circle  of 
the  twelve  signs  of  the  zodiac,  allowing  thirty  degrees 
to  each,  is  divided  into  four  trigons  of  three  signs 
each;  the  earthy,  aerial,  fiery,  and  watery,  correspond- 
ing to  the  temperaments.  Aries  the  ram,  formerly  the 
first  month  of  the  year,  March,  is  the  first  sign  of  the 
aerial  trigon;  to  find  the  other  two  signs  thereunto 
belonging,  place  the  angle  of  an  equilateral  triangle  at 
Aries,  and  the  touching  points  of  the  other  two  angles 
show  the  other  two  signs  that  belong  in  that  trigon. 
The  same  applies  to  the  other  three  trigons  or  tern- 

[  in] 


ENGLAND 

peraments.  Varley  illustrated  the  subject  by  the  fol- 
lowing example:  Lord  Byron  was  born  under  the  in- 
tellectual sign  Aries,  and  his  style  of  face  exhibited 
the  characteristics  proper  to  that  sign,  but  the  slight 
thickening  at  the  end  of  the  nose,  and  the  other  well- 
known  personal  deformity,  resulted  from  a  reflection 
from  the  sign  directly  opposite  in  the  zodiacal  circle, 
which  is  opposite  not  only  in  position,  but  also  in 
character  and  temperament.  Persons  born  when  the 
sign  Gemini  is  ascending  above  the  eastern  horizon 
should  be  of  an  elegant  style  of  figure,  agile,  dexter- 
ous at  sleight-of-hand,  graceful  in  the  dance,  in  sword 
fence,  skating,  and  so  forth,  but  these  characteristics 
are  liable  to  be  impaired  by  reflection  from  the  sign 
opposite  in  the  zodiacal  circle. 

Gilchrist  in  his  Life  of  Blake  says  that  many  ofVar- 
ley's  horoscopes  came  true.  The  artist  Collins  died  on 
the  day  the  stars  foretold,  and  a  man  who  tried  to 
profit  by  Varley's  warning  by  lying  in  bed  the  whole 
of  the  day  upon  which  a  fatal  accident  was  to  occur, 
came  down-stairs  in  the  evening  in  the  belief  that  the 
dangerous  time  was  past,  stumbled  over  a  coal-scuttle, 
and  fulfilled  the  prediction. 

Two  of  my  earliest  friends,  students  of  art  with  whom 
I  was  most  intimate,  I  came  to  know  through  John 
Varley.  These  were  George  Richmond  and  Theodore 
von  Hoist.  The  former,  one  year  my  junior,  after- 
wards became  a  Royal  Academician  through  the  excel- 

[  115] 


REMINISCENCES 

lence  of  his  portraits,  and  was  married  to  a  daughter 
of  Tatham  the  architect.  His  son,  also  a  Royal  Aca- 
demician, has  recently  received  the  commission  to  dec- 
orate St.  Paul's  in  mosaic.  Hoist  never  condescended 
to  portraiture,  but  devoted  himself  chiefly  to  painting 
scenes    from    Faust    and    other   German   works    in   a 
broad,    Fuseli-like    manner.    He    was    two    years    my 
junior,  and  died  in  1844  at  tne  age  °f  thirty-four.  A 
fair  example  of  his  style  may  be  seen  in  the  engraving 
in   the   second  volume   of  the  Book  of  Gems  (middle 
period)  at  page  43,  the  subject  being  entitled  Too  Late. 
It  was  used  by  the  editor,  S.  C.  Hall,  to  illustrate  a 
passage  in  Young's  Night  ^houghts^  "  Procrastination 
is  the  thief  of  time."  He  was  an  intimate  acquaintance 
of  Wainwright  the  poisoner,  who  was  a  skilful  amateur 
artist,  and  in  appearance  and  manners  an  elegant  gen- 
tleman. Hoist  admired  him  and  desired  that  I  should 
know  him,  for  his  true  character  and  heartless  crimes 
had   not  then,  in   1827,  been  discovered.  Hoist  had 
always  a  large  quantity  of  unfinished  work  on  hand, 
but  one  thing  which  he  did  finish  was  the  Drinking 
Scene  in  Faust,  and  this  was  purchased  from  him  by 
Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer.   I  have   always  felt  that 
Bulwer  was  drawn  to  Hoist  all  the  more  because  of 
the    known   intimacy   of  the    latter   with   the   wretch 
Wainwright,   and    much   of  the    information    Bulwer 
thus  obtained  seems  to  have  been  worked  up  in  his 
novel  Lucretia,  or  the  Children  of  the  Night. 


CHAPTER    IX 

Studio  Work — Henry  Richter — Emancipation 

Y  work  on  the  plates  for  tfke  Early  Florentine 
School  being  done,  and  the  completed  folio 
volume  published  in  1826,  I  had  to  return, 
of  course,  to  my  old  occupation  of  cutting  names  on 
trunk-labels,  door-plates,  and  the  like,  not  so  contin- 
uously, however,  but  that  there  were  intervals  when  I 
could  practise  picture-work  in  the  line  manner.  In  this 
way  I  engraved  a  plate,  quarto-size,  of  Northcote's 
Hubert  and  Prince  Arthur,  also  a  small  group  of  Charity 
after  Henry  Corbould.  These  being  viewed  with  fa- 
vour by  some  connoisseurs  in  art,  my  acquaintance 
was  soon  extended  among  a  class  of  people  who  could 
control  commissions  for  picture  plates.  Mr.  Swaine 
then  proposed  to  me  that  I  should  execute  any  orders 
for  such  work  that  I  could  procure,  and  receive  a  por- 
tion of  the  profit,  an  offer  that  might  be  called  liberal, 
since  by  the  terms  of  my  indenture  all  my  earnings 
during  my  apprenticeship  belonged  to  him.  Under 
this  arrangement  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  engrave 
a  series  of  twelve  illustrations  of  Goethe's  Faust,  from 
designs  by  Theodore  von  Hoist,  the  art  student  I 
have  mentioned  as  introduced  to  me  by  John  Varley. 
The  style  of  Hoist's  drawing  of  the  human  figure 

[  117] 


REMINISCENCES 

was  most  masterly,  firm  and  grand  in  outline  and 
free  from  littleness  and  triviality  of  detail,  like  the 
contours  of  Fuseli,  whose  manner  he  followed.  The 
proposed  series  was  to  be  published  in  quarto  form, 
and  to  be  composed  chiefly  of  etchings  imitating  his 
drawings,  none  of  which  were  wrought  up  to  a  fin- 
ished effect.  Only  six  of  the  proposed  set  were  ever 
done,  because  Hoist  made  no  more,  but  began  to  in- 
troduce other  subjects  to  complete  the  number.  The 
Wild  Huntsman  was  one  of  these,  and  the  only  one 
engraved,  and  the  Faust  series  came  to  a  stand  for 
lack  of  material.  The  subjects  finished  were  Faust  in 
his  Study,  Mephistopheles  and  the  Student,  Faust  and  Mar- 
garet, Margaret  in  Despair,  The  Witches  departing  for 
the  Hartz  Mountains,  and  Walpurgis  Night. 
It  was  hurtful  to  the  credit  of  Hoist  that  figures  he 
drew  and  claimed  as  original  were  plagiarized.  His 
principal  figure  in  The  Curse  of  the  Wild  Huntsman  is 
Fuseli's  King  Lear  cursing  Cordelia.  At  the  request 
of  John  Varley  I  introduced  Hoist  to  Mr.  Ottley, 
who,  looking  over  the  drawings  shown,  remarked  of 
one  of  them,  "That 's  copied."  "No,"  said  Hoist, 
"it 's  original."  "Oh,  but,  my  dear  sir,  I  '11  show  you." 
He  then  brought  out  a  print  of  Michael  Angelo's 
Creation  of  Eve  from  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  sure 
enough  the  sleeping  figure  of  Adam  was  so  exactly 
the  same  that  it  could  not  have  resulted  from  accident 
or  unconscious  memory. 


ENGLAND 

While  waiting  for  additional  designs  for  the  Faust 
series,  Mr.  Henry  Richter  proposed  to  Mr.  Swaine  a 
commission  for  me  to  engrave  for  him  a  copy  of  his 
picture,  The  ^ight  Shoe.  I  was  to  do  it  in  stipple  on 
steel,  neither  of  which  I  had  attempted  as  yet,  but 
as  he  had  seen  what  I  had  accomplished  in  the  line 
manner  on  copper  he  accepted  it  as  assurance  of  suc- 
cess in  dotted  work,  which  is  so  much  easier.  It  was 
deemed  advisable  that  I  should  experimentally  engrave 
a  small  plate  on  steel,  Omphale,  after  an  antique  gem, 
using  a  study  from  nature  he  had  made  with  the  same 
movement,  the  figure  turned  to  a  front  view  instead 
of  profile.  After  I  had  completed  the  etching  and  was 
about  to  carry  it  on  with  the  graver,  he  changed  his 
mind  and  decided  to  have  me  do  it  in  mezzotinto. 
So  a  ground  was  rocked  over  the  etching,  and  I 
scraped  it  up  successfully  to  a  satisfactory  finish. 
I  was  glad  of  this  change,  for  it  would  have  been  very 
tedious  to  engrave  in  stipple  so  large  a  plate  as  'The 
tfight  Shoe,  containing  several  figures.  I  had  suggested 
it  to  him  before,  but  he  objected  that  "mezzotint  is 
such  a  black  style."  I  had  told  him  that  I  intended  to 
try  it  for  myself  at  all  events.  I  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  young  man  named  James  Eagan,  who 
used  to  lay  the  mezzotinto  grounds  for  Samuel  W. 
Reynolds,  the  famous  engraver  after  Sir  Joshua,  and 
as  be  had  offered  to  lay  a  ground  for  me  I  meant 
to  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity.  The  end  was 


REMINISCENCES 

that  The  Tight  Shoe  was  engraved  in  mezzotinto,  the 
small  plate  having  turned  out  so  well.  Omphale  was  my 
first  attempt  in  a  style  new  to  me,  which  I  continued 
to  practise  ever  after,  only  occasionally  executing  com- 
missions in  the  pure  line  manner.  I  sold  the  steel  plate 
to  Mr.  Littell  in  Philadelphia  in  1830. 
It  was  quite  natural  and  proper  that  Mr.  Richter 
should  desire  to  keep  a  close  watch  over  the  progress 
of  his  plate,  but  that  was  seen  to  be  difficult,  since  he 
lived  at  Brook  Green,  Hammersmith,  three  or  four 
miles  from  Queen  Street,  Golden  Square,  where  Mr. 
Swaine's  office  was  located.  Another  disadvantage  was 
that  the  rude  and  coarse  jobs  I  was  frequently  obliged 
to  do  made  my  hand  tremulous,  spoiling  it  for  deli- 
cate art  work;  for  example,  the  cutting  of  names  and 
addresses  of  dealers  deep  into  circular  brass  registers 
to  be  set  in  floors  to  be  walked  over;  or,  worse  yet, 
lettering  large  brass  dog-collars,  the  zigzag  edges  of 
which  were  bent  up  at  a  right  angle  into  spiked  bor- 
ders. This  kind  of  rolled  brass  is  so  exceedingly  tough 
that  no  graver  could  stand  the  strain,  and  when  the 
point  broke,  down  would  go  the  knuckles  on  the 
spikes,  and  the  bleeding  was  evidence  that  more  than 
the  brass  had  been  cut. 

This  induced  Mr.  Richter  to  try  to  make  some  such 
arrangement  for  my  services  as  had  previously  been 
made  with  Mr.  Ottley,  but  nothing  resulted  from 
the  conference.  I  was  now  much  older  and  more  ex- 

[    120] 


ENGLAND 

perienced,  and  I  suppose  the  price  asked  was  too  high. 
I,  of  course,  was  not  present  at  the  conference,  being 
only  an  apprentice,  whose  condition,  even  in  an  ar- 
tistic craft,  was  in  all  respects  the  same  as  that  of  a 
slave,  expected  to  obey  uncomplainingly  and  do  what- 
ever was  ordered,  down  to  the  most  menial  service. 
I  was  growing  more  and  more  anxious  for  emancipa- 
tion from  my  thrall.  If  no  simpler  way  offered  I  was 
ready  to  join  a  Scotch  friend  of  mine,  named  Cameron, 
who,  heart-broken  over  a  love  disappointment,  had 
determined  to  join  the  Greeks  in  their  struggle  for 
freedom  against  the  Turks.  Indeed,  it  looked  very 
much  as  if  it  would  be  for  him  either  Greece  or  sui- 
cide. It  was  agreed  between  us  that  he  should  go  first 
to  the  committee  in  London  who  were  collecting  help 
of  all  kinds  to  aid  the  Greek  revolt.  Sir  Francis 
Burdett  was  a  member  of  the  committee,  but  I  forget 
the  names  of  the  others.  They  discharged  their  trust 
to  "help,  aid,  and  assist,"  by  discouraging  those  who 
offered  themselves  for  military  service.  They  told  Cam- 
eron that  the  Greeks  were  a  set  of  scamps,  and  that  it 
would  be  well  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  Lord 
Cochrane,  who  was  admiral  of  a  fleet  acting  in  behalf 
of  the  Greeks,  is  represented  as  saying  something 
similar. 

I  finally  succeeded  in  arranging  to  buy  off  the  remain- 
der of  my  time,  agreeing  to  pay  two  hundred  pounds 
as  soon  as  I  was  of  age,  when  I  would  come  into 


REMINISCENCES 

possession  of  a  bequest  from  my  grandmother.  The 
next  thing  was  to  decide  upon  the  course  best  calcu- 
lated to  advance  me  in  the  knowledge  and  practice  of 
art.  Richter  urged  me  to  come  to  him  and  engrave 
The  Tight  Shoe.  So  sure  had  he  been  of  my  acquies- 
cence, he  said,  that  he  had  made  arrangements  which 
would  be  very  inconvenient  to  alter.  This  representa- 
tion inclined  me  to  do  as  he  wished,  but  I  was  warned 
by  the  experience  of  others  who  had  worked  for  him, 
that  he  would  make  it  very  difficult  for  me  to  break 
away  so  long  as  he  found  it  to  his  profit  to  keep  me. 
Influenced  by  what  he  said  I  felt  it  incumbent  upon 
me  to  go  to  him,  although  unwillingly,  stipulating, 
however,  that  I  was  to  engrave  the  one  plate  only, 
and  no  more.  I  engraved  The  Tight  Shoe  as  agreed, 
and  was  then  induced  to  do  another  for  him  also, 
The  Tempest  with  the  words  of  Ariel  quoted  beneath 
the  title,  "Pardon,  master,  I  will  be  correspondent  to 
command,  and  do  my  spiriting  gently/'  The  picture 
represented  a  group  of  three  figures  down  to  the 
knees,  the  Pope,  the  Church  and  the  Devil,  the  words 
of  Ariel  being  supposed  to  be  the  utterance  of  the 
last  of  the  three  personages.  It  was  a  political  satire, 
born  of  the  ferment  and  agitation  over  Catholic 
Emancipation,  which  was  then  nearing  its  consumma- 
tion. The  print  was  displayed  in  the  window  of  a 
print  shop  in  Gracechurch  Street,  and  attracted  such  a 
crowd  of  excited  persons  who  angrily  inquired  what 

[    122] 


ENGLAND 

was  meant  by  it,  that  it  had  to  be  removed  from  the 
window  for  fear  of  trouble.  The  plate  had  really  been 
engraved  with  a  view  to  its  being  bought  up  to  be 
suppressed,  and  the  result  was  not  a  disappointment. 
The  final  passage  of  the  Emancipation  Acl  by  the 
British  Parliament  is  linked  to  a  bit  of  Philadelphia 
history.  On  receipt  of  the  news  in  Philadelphia  the 
Liberty  Bell  in  the  tower  of  the  State  House  was  rung, 
and  cracked  in  the  ringing.  When  I  was  up  in  the 
tower  in  1830,  two  years  after,  viewing  the  cracked 
bell  for  the  first  time,  Downing,  who  was  then  the 
custodian  of  Independence  Hall,  told  me  of  it  and 
remarked  to  me  that  "the  bell  refused  to  ring  for  a 
British  Acl,  even  when  the  Act  was  a  good  one." 
When  the  two  plates  were  nearly  finished,  Mr.  Rich- 
ter,  ignoring  the  engagement  that  I  was  to  do  only 
one,  began  preparations  for  a  third,  after  his  painting, 
The  Brute  of  a  Husband.  But  I  considered  that  it 
was  time  I  should  be  earning  money,  and  objected  to 
be  condemned  to  work  for  board  and  lodging  as  my 
sole  recompense.  In  our  talk  over  a  new  arrangement, 
Richter  lost  his  temper  and  used  language  so  offensive 
that  I  refused  to  engrave  the  plate  for  him  on  any 
terms  whatever.  We  parted  in  anger,  and  from  that 
time  on  he  did  all  he  could  to  hinder  my  success. 
When  I  went  to  Mr.  Richter  I  reckoned  on  giving 
all  my  leisure  to  the  undivided  study  of  art  and  its 
history,  but  I  found  that  my  valuable  evenings  were 

[ 


REMINISCENCES 

frittered  away  unprofitably.   Richter  was  fanatical  on 
the  subject  of  Immanuel  Kant,  and  pressed  on  me  the 
reading  of  translations  of  his  transcendental  philosophy 
that  he  and  Wergmann,  the  watchmaker,  had  made. 
These  two  claimed  to  be  the  first  to  introduce  to  the 
English  mind  the  Kantian  doctrines.  They  prepared 
for  the  Encyclopedia  Londinensis  the  articles  on  logic, 
metaphysics,  and  some  other  subjects  that  served  their 
purpose,  and  tried  to  have  religion  confided  to  them, 
but  the  editor  was  obliged  to  assign  that  subject  to  a 
bishop  of  the  Church  of  England.  Beside  this  unprofit- 
able reading,  I  was  often  asked  to  make  the  fourth  in 
a  quadrille  in  the  evening  dancing  lesson,  to  take  the 
place  of  Mrs.    Richter,  who  was  a  large,  fat,  heavy 
woman,  and  often  I  must  wind  up  the  night  with  a 
game  of  chess  with  Mr.  Richter,  who  was  an  enthu- 
siast, and  who  surprised  me  by  being  strangely  ruffled 
on  the  rare  occasions  when  I  beat  him. 
I    remember    a    conference    between   Wergmann   and 
Richter  over  the  practicability  of  getting  the  transcen- 
dental philosophy  of  Kant  introduced  into  the  course 
of  instruction  of  the  London  University,  which  they 
agreed  would  be  dependent  upon  the  approval  of  Sir 
James  Mackintosh.  The  establishment  of  the  London 
University,  besides   adding   to   the   metropolis   a  fine 
example  of  classic  architecture  in  itself,  was  indirectly 
the  cause  of  completing  the  noble  river  front  of  Som- 
erset House,  which  up  to  that  time  had  been  wanting. 

[ 


5  -I 

o    .s 


w      s?" 

H     '^ 


33      ^> 
u     «< 


8  I 

g    tt* 


ENGLAND 

The  Conservatives  established  King's  College  as  a 
counterpoise  to  the  London  University,  and  built  for 
its  accommodation  the  eastern  wing  of  Sir  William 
Chambers's  masterpiece  of  architectural  design. 
It  is  interesting  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  appearance 
of  the  old  Somerset  House,  which  stood  on  the  spot 
now  occupied  by  so  beautiful  a  structure.  I  have  prints 
in  my  collection,  one  of  the  garden  upon  the  Thames 
including  the  river  front  of  the  palace,  another  repre- 
senting the  demolition  of  the  old  building  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  new  already  erected,  and  a  third  showing 
the  architecture  of  the  Strand  front.  This  is  introduced 
incidentally  as  background  to  a  burlesque  caricature 
of  a  procession  of  freemasons.  The  top  of  the  church 
tower  seen  over  the  roof  of  the  old  mansion  is  that  of 
St.  Mary-le-Strand.  The  front  of  this  church  viewed 
from  the  west  presents  a  pleasing  architectural  compo- 
sition, but  the  steeple  as  seen  from  the  south,  edge- 
wise as  one  might  say,  is  so  narrow  in  diameter  that 
it  would  hardly  be  a  surprise  to  see  it  blown  over  by 
a  strong  wind  from  either  the  east  or  the  west.  But  it 
is  not  the  architect  who  was  to  blame  for  this  singular 
defect,  because  as  originally  designed  the  tower  was  not 
to  be  on  the  roof  of  the  church  at  all.  It  was  to  rest  on 
the  ground  a  short  distance  in  front,  and  serve  at  the 
same  time  as  a  memorial  or  monument  to  Queen  Anne, 
for  St.  Mary-le-Strand  was  one  of  her  fifty  churches. 
In  this,  Gibbs  followed  the  plan  of  some  of  the  famous 

[ 


REMINISCENCES 

builders  of  Italy;  the  celebrated  Giotto  Tower  at  Flor- 
ence and  the  Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa  stand  apart  from 
their  cathedrals,  and  the  great  Campanile  at  Venice  is 
separated  from  San  Marco  by  the  entire  breadth  of  the 
wide  Piazzetta.  But  the  London  architect  was  forced  to 
abandon  this  part  of  his  design,  and  erect  the  steeple  on 
the  roof  in  conformity  with  English  usage,  although  the 
foundations  were  inadequate.  The  effort  to  diminish  the 
weight  of  the  superstructure  resulted  in  the  remarkable 
form  we  see. 

The  prevalence  of  this  architectural  fashion  so  offen- 
sive in  its  bad  taste  is  much  to  be  regretted.  Witness 
the  spoiling  of  that  other  fine  church  by  Gibbs,  St. 
Martin's-in-the-Fields,  which  fronts  the  end  of  the 
National  Gallery  at  Trafalgar  Square.  Behind  that 
noble  portico,  a  stone  steeple  rides  a-cock-horse,  as  it 
were,  on  the  ridge  of  the  roof.  Better  that  the  church 
should  have  no  steeple  at  all  than  thus  be  disfigured. 
But  architects  are  not  always  accountable  for  incongrui- 
ties that  invite  criticism,  because  these  are  often  perpe- 
trated by  order  of  those  for  whom  the  designs  are 
made.  I  myself  must  confess  a  fault  of  that  kind  or 
worse, — for  the  steeple  I  built  at  the  entrance  to 
Monument  Cemetery  in  Philadelphia  stands  not  only 
over  the  ridge  of  a  roof,  but  over  an  entrance-arch 
gateway.  The  board  of  directors  would  have  it  so,  and 
refused  the  ground  to  place  it  otherwise. 
While  working  for  Mr.  Richter  I  did  not  sleep  in  the 

[  126] 


ENGLAND 

house,  as  there  was  no  bedroom  for  my  accommoda- 
tion. He  engaged  lodging  for  me  at  the  extreme  end 
of  Brook  Green  most  remote  from  the  Hammersmith 
Road.  It  was  in  a  wide  house  reduced  at  that  time  to 
half  its  original  size;  other  buildings  were  few  and 
scattering,  and  the  whole  neighbourhood  was  forlorn 
and  lonely.  Eventually  a  comfortable  room  was  fitted 
up  for  me  in  the  upper  part  of  this  house,  but  until 
it  was  ready  I  slept  in  a  long,  desolate  apartment  with 
very  scant  old-fashioned  furniture,  and  three  curtain- 
less  windows  overlooking  the  Green.  There  was  a 
small  worn-out  lock,  but  no  key,  and  below  a  feeble 
little  bolt  that  when  pushed  home  scarcely  caught  in 
the  box  staple.  My  whole  surroundings  impressed  me 
as  altogether  grim  and  ghostly.  Brickmaking  seemed 
to  be  the  only  business  that  flourished  in  the  vicinity, 
and  the  workmen  from  the  brick-yards  used  to  assemble 
in  the  room  beneath  mine,  and  roar  out  narrative  songs 
with  no  end  to  the  number  of  verses,  for  the  monot- 
onous drone  sent  me  to  sleep  before  I  could  finish 
my  attempt  to  count  them.  They  may  have  been 
good  honest  men  enough,  but  their  appearance  cer- 
tainly was  not  prepossessing. 

One  night  I  lay  trying  to  recoiled:  whether  I  had 
bolted  the  fragile  fastening,  without  summoning  reso- 
lution to  get  out  of  my  warm  bed  to  solve  the  doubt. 
Presently  I  thought  I  heard  a  slight  noise  in  the 
room.  All  my  faculties  became  centred  in  the  sense  of 

[  127  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

hearing,  for  the  sound  was  so  faint  and  fine,  "there's 
nothing  lives  'twixt  it  and  silence."  After  a  while  I  be- 
came conscious  of  a  gentle  touch  on  the  bed-covering 
near  my  feet,  and  then  again  distinctly  felt  it  higher  up. 
I  could  not  see,  for  my  head  was  under  the  sheet.  I 
kept  still,  pretending  to  be  asleep  until  the  slight  pres- 
sure reached  my  shoulder,  when  I  jumped  up  with  a 
sudden  spring,  and  caught  in  my  arms — empty  space 
only.  The  intruder  was  a  kitten.  I  took  the  innocent 
little  creature  to  my  warm  bosom  and  stroked  her,  and 
with  her  happy  purring  she  lulled  me  to  sleep. 
Brook  Green  got  its  name  from  a  small  stream  of 
water  that  flowed  through  the  middle  of  it,  crossed 
here  and  there  by  small  bridges,  guarded  by  a  hori- 
zontal rail  which  was  supported  by  a  post  at  each  end. 
One  of  these  bridges  with  its  protecting  rail  is  shown 
in  the  engraving  of  The  Tig/if  Shoe  as  seen  through  the 
open  door.  This  I  copied  on  to  the  steel  plate  direct 
from  nature,  at  Mr.  Richter's  desire. 
I  remember  attending  one  of  the  fairs  that  used  to  be 
held  periodically  on  this  Green.  Others  that  I  also 
well  remember  were  Bartholomew's  Fair  at  Smithfield, 
one  at  Stepney,  one  at  Greenwich,  and  one  at  Tot- 
hiU's  Fields,  a  little  way  south  of  Queen  Anne's  Gate, 
St.  James's  Park.  In  primitive  times,  when  these  fairs 
had  their  origin,  they  were  no  doubt  innocent  enough, 
but  at  last  they  drifted  into  such  demoralizing  nui- 
sances that  they  had  to  be  abolished. 

[  -28] 


ENGLAND 

Being  now  extricated  from  the  Richter  entanglement  I 
commenced  business  for  myself,  and  engaged  apart- 
ments in  Rowland  Street,  Fitzroy  Square.  I  met  with 
fair  encouragement  after  I  had  engraved  a  portrait  of 
Sir  Charles  Wilkins  of  the  East  India  Company. 
Ackermann,  the  noted  German  publisher,  then  of  the 
Strand,  having  been  shown  some  of  my  work,  com- 
missioned me  to  engrave  a  plate  in  line  after  a  picture 
by  Mr.  Richard  Barrett  Davis,  for  his  annual  entitled 
'The  Forget-Me-Not.  It  was  he  who  first  introduced  into 
England  this  class  of  publications,  that  had  already 
become  popular  in  Germany.  Ackermann  also  put  into 
my  hands  the  revision  and  improvement  of  a  plate  he 
had  had  done  for  the  same  book  by  Agar  after  Single- 
ton. I  engraved  some  fancy  subjects  in  mezzotint  for 
different  publishers,  but  the  best  paying  work  was 
portraits  for  private  parties. 

One  day,  being  at  the  printer's  for  a  proof  of  a  plate 
I  had  in  progress,  I  met  a  young  man  named  Stork,  a 
stipple-engraver  who  was  there  on  a  like  errand.  He 
remarked  to  me  that  he  wished  he  were  an  engraver 
in  mezzotint  like  myself,  instead  of  in  his  own  style, 
for  in  that  case  he  would  go  right  off  to  America.  He 
had  been  informed  that  there  was  not  only  a  first-rate 
opening,  but  that  some  institution  interested  in  art 
had  offered  substantial  inducements  for  a  mezzo- 
tint engraver  of  fair  abilities  to  come  over  and  settle. 
This  set  me  to  wondering  whether  it  would  not  be  to 

9  [     129    ] 


REMINISCENCES 

my  advantage  to  aft  on  his  suggestion,  for  notwith- 
standing that  I  was  constantly  engaged  on  commis- 
sions, my  means  were  not  perceptibly  increasing.  Fi- 
nally, after  my  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  my  pre- 
ceptor, Mr.  John  Swaine,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  take 
the  step.  After  I  began  to  speak  of  it  openly,  one  and 
another  brought  me  letters  of  introduction  to  persons 
in  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  chiefly  the  former. 
So  absorbed  was  I  in  study  and  the  pursuit  of  my  art, 
and  so  little  did  I  know  of  maritime  matters,  that  I 
inquired  at  a  shipping  agency  for  information  about 
steamships,  and  yet  it  was  only  the  year  1830!  I  was 
heartily  laughed  at,  and  was  told  that  steamers  were  for 
river  navigation  only,  and  that  if  I  were  to  live  to  the 
age  of  Methuselah  I  should  never  hear  of  such  a  thing 
as  a  steamer  crossing  the  ocean. 

At  the  London  docks  I  chose  a  ship  that  sailed  for 
Philadelphia,  although  my  destination  was  New  York, 
for  I  found  the  cabins  preferable  to  those  on  the 
packets  for  the  other  port;  and  besides,  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  deliver  my  Philadelphia  letters  of  intro- 
duction on  the  way  through  instead  of  travelling  there 
for  the  purpose. 

At  that  time  the  American  vessels  were  readily  dis- 
tinguishable from  those  of  other  nations  in  port  by  a 
beautiful  feature.  A  broad  band  of  unpainted  wood, 
varnished  to  a  rich  colour,  ran  in  a  graceful  sweep  from 
stem  to  stern  just  below  the  bulwarks. 

[  130] 


ENGLAND 

The  date  appointed  for  sailing,  Saturday,  the  twenty- 
eighth  of  June,  was  postponed  for  some  reason  or 
other,  and  as  1  passed  the  Mansion  House  on  my  way 
back  from  the  dock  that  day,  I  noticed  a  small  piece 
of  paper  attached  to  the  pier  of  masonry  under  a  col- 
umn of  the  portico.  It  was  the  official  notification,  from 
Sir  Robert  Peel  to  the  Lord  Mayor,  of  the  death  of 
the  King,  George  the  Fourth.  The  language  used 
struck  me  as  peculiar,  for  he  said  that  "he  regretted 
that  it  had  pleased  the  Almighty  to  relieve  his  Ma- 
jesty of  his  sufferings."  One  would  expect  that  such  a 
notice  would  attract  a  crowd,  but  of  the  multitude 
about  I  was  the  only  reader.  Nine  years  earlier  I  had 
helped  in  preparing  a  part  of  the  display  of  fireworks 
in  Hyde  Park  on  the  evening  of  his  coronation  day. 
So  my  wife  and  I  left  London  on  Sunday  the  fourth 
of  July,  1830,  and  in  a  little  over  eight  weeks  were 
landed  in  Philadelphia. 


Reminiscences  of  America 


CHAPTER      X 

Philadelphia  and  New  York  in  1830 — National  Academy 
of  Design — Philadelphia  Artists — Letter  from  Charles 
Wilson  Peale  to  his  Son,  Rembrandt  Peak 

|N  Monday  of  the  ninth  week  after  the  ship 
left  London,  we  were  sailing  up  the  placid 
waters  of  the  river  Delaware  with  a  fair 
breeze,  just  strong  enough  to  give  satisfactory  pro- 
gress. In  the  afternoon  the  steamboat  Robert  Morris 
came  in  sight  on  her  way  to  Philadelphia,  carrying 
passengers  from  Baltimore.  She  was  a  beautiful  vessel 
for  that  day,  and  the  hull  was  distinguished  by  the 
same  long  stripe  of  unpainted  varnished  wood  that  I 
had  admired  in  the  American  liners  in  London.  One 
of  the  quarantine  physicians  suggested  that  if  there 
were  any  of  us  who  would  prefer  to  reach  the  city 
quickly,  instead  of  remaining  on  board  until  the  mor- 
row, now  was  our  opportunity,  for  we  could  signal 
the  steamer  to  stop  alongside.  Mr.  Dallett  (afterwards 
president  of  the  Penn  Township  Bank),  my  wife  and 
myself  were  the  only  ones  who  decided  to  leave  the 
ship  in  which  we  had  been  imprisoned  so  long,  and 
we  rejoiced  to  be  free. 

We  two  then  first  trod  American  soil  at  the  Chest- 
nut Street  wharf.  Having  already  selected  the  letter 

[  135  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

of  introduction  to  be  delivered  immediately  on  land- 
ing, we  inquired  the  way  to  Centre  Square.  Strolling 
up  Chestnut  Street  we  noticed  on  Third  Street  to  our 
left  a  white  marble  building  of  fine  architecture,  with 
a  projecting  portico  of  six  Corinthian  columns,  and 
turned  out  of  our  way  to  admire  it.  We  asked  a  passer- 
by what  it  was,  and  he  answered,  "It's  Stephen  Gi- 
rard's  banking-house.  Are  you  strangers?"  Resuming 
our  walk,  we  were  directed  at  Fourth  Street  to  go  north 
till  we  came  to  a  wide  avenue  with  a  market  extend- 
ing through  the  middle  of  the  road  from  the  river- 
bank  to  Eighth  Street,  and  there  to  turn  westward 
again  to  Broad. 

When  we  delivered  our  note  of  introduction  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Ferguson,  they  received  us  with  the  utmost 
cordiality,  and  before  the  day  was  done  had  settled 
us  comfortably  in  a  boarding-house  on  the  north  side 
of  Market  Street,  near  Twelfth.  The  view  from  our 
window  was  charming;  a  beautiful  grove  of  fine  trees 
covered  the  whole  block  from  Eleventh  to  Twelfth 
Streets  and  from  Market  to  Chestnut.  One  house 
only  had  been  built  on  it,  that  stood  on  the  corner 
of  Twelfth  and  Market  Streets.  In  it  Robert  Morris 
had  died.  The  entire  square  of  ground  was  owned  by 
Stephen  Girard,  and  he  intended  it  to  be  the  site  of 
his  projected  college  for  orphan  boys. 
The  next  day  I  went  to  the  wharf  to  look  after  our 
belongings  on  the  ship,  which  had  arrived,  and  I  saw 

[  136] 


O      ^ 


AMERICA 

the  captain  at  the  landing  in  conversation  with  a  gen- 
tleman. He  beckoned  me  to  him  and  introduced  me 
to  Mr.  Ralston,  an  eminent  merchant  of  Philadelphia, 
and  he  in  turn  gave  me  later  an  introduction  to  Mr. 
John  Vaughn.  When  Mr.  Vaughn  had  seen  the  prints 
I  had  engraved,  he  urged  and  insisted  that  they  should 
appear  in  the  exhibition  of  the  Franklin  Institute 
which  happened  to  be  open  at  the  time,  and  this  re- 
sulted greatly  to  my  advantage.  A  youngish  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Frederick  Fraley,  seemed  to  be  a  leading 
spirit  in  the  institute,  which  I  was  told  had  been 
founded  about  six  years  before. 

After  I  had  satisfied  myself  as  to  what  might  appear 
to  be  my  prospects  of  business  success  in  Philadel- 
phia, I  went  to  New  York,  my  original  destination, 
and  delivered  my  letters  there.  The  means  and  amount 
of  travel  between  the  two  cities  were  then  so  different 
from  the  present  facilities  that  it  may  interest  many 
to  read  of  the  primitive  methods  of  that  time.  There 
were  but  two  trips  a  day,  at  six  in  the  morning  and  at 
twelve  noon,  both  starting  from  Arch  Street  wharf  by 
steamboat  to  Bordentown,  and  on  my  first  journey 
to  New  York  I  took  the  early  boat.  Upon  sighting  the 
landing  at  Bordentown,  flags  were  displayed  signalling 
the  number  of  passengers  to  be  provided  for,  so  that  by 
the  time  the  boat  arrived  the  requisite  number  of  four- 
horse  stages  were  ranged  side  by  side  on  the  sloping 
shore,  with  their  wheels  securely  blocked  to  prevent 

[  137  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

their  backing  into  the  river.  Usually  about  six  or  seven 
sufficed.  Very  soon  after  starting,  we  ascended  a  steep, 
narrow  lane,  shaded  on  both  sides  by  over-arching 
branches  of  fine  old  trees,  and  then  drove  along  a  road 
a  short  distance  from  Joseph  Bonaparte's  extensive 
park,  and  running  parallel  with  its  southern  boundary. 
On  the  arrival  of  our  stage  at  a  small  stream  called, 
if  I  remember  aright,  South  River, — yet  how  such  an 
insignificant  creek  came  to  be  dignified  by  the  name  of 
river  I  do  not  know, — we  embarked  on  a  steamboat, 
which  though  of  small  dimensions  seemed  as  broad  as 
the  water  it  was  to  navigate.  It  was  propelled  by  side 
paddles,  of  course,  and  had  to  plough  its  way  through 
mud  and  water  and  make  such  sudden  turns  that  the 
bow  often  seemed  on  the  point  of  running  into  a  bank 
directly  in  front.  The  boat  was  not  much  in  length 
from  stem  to  stern,  otherwise  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  it  to  navigate  a  stream  that  made  so  many 
sharp  curves  in  its  crooked,  meandering  course  through 
the  wide,  dreary  flat  to  join  the  Raritan  River.  At  one 
place  I  saw  a  straight  canal  cut  to  evade  a  long  reach 
of  the  natural  channel,  but  I  suppose  it  .was  unfinished, 
for  there  was  a  vessel  in  it  laid  crosswise  from  shore  to 
shore.  Shortly  before  entering  Staten  Island  Sound 
from  the  Raritan,  we  passed  a  few  stakes  driven  close  to 
the  bank,  which  were  said  to  be  the  beginning  of  a  wharf 
for  the  South  Amboy  terminal  of  the  projected  railroad 
to  New  York  from  Camden,  opposite  Philadelphia. 

[  138] 


AMERICA 

Although  we  had  started  at  six  in  the  morning  it  was 
the  dusk  of  evening  when  we  arrived  in  New  York. 
The  gas  was  lit,  but  all  the  brightness  and  life  were 
below  Fulton  Street.  Everywhere  northward  was  gloom 
and  quiet  unrelieved  by  any  business  places  or  shops. 
The  population,  I  was  told,  was  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  two  hundred  thousand,  about  the  same  as  that  of 
Philadelphia  at  the  time,  or  perhaps  a  little  more. 
Trinity  Church,  on  Broadway  opposite  Wall  Street, 
was  a  wretched  piece  of  architecture  pretending  to  be 
Gothic,  a  striking  contrast  to  the  splendid  structure 
that  now  occupies  the  same  spot.  On  Wall  Street,  only 
a  few  steps  from  Broadway,  was  another  church,  stand- 
ing back  with  an  open  grassy  plot  in  front,  and  in  an 
out-of-town  place  away  up  Broadway  they  were  insert- 
ing in  the  city  plan  an  open  space  to  be  called  Union 
Square. 

Having  delivered  my  introductions,  I  found  reason  to 
conclude  that  my  original  purpose  of  settling  in  New 
York  was  the  right  thing  to  do,  and  I  returned  to 
Philadelphia  with  the  intention  of  carrying  it  out.  But 
before  narrating  what  changed  this  determination  and 
kept  me  in  Philadelphia,  I  will  give  the  itinerary  of 
my  second  trip  to  New  York,  by  the  midday  line.  We 
were  taken  as  before  by  steamboat  to  Bordentown,  but 
the  stages  to  which  we  were  transferred  carried  us  to 
New  Brunswick  on  the  Raritan.  At  the  extreme  lower 
end  of  the  town,  and  I  think  the  very  last  house,  was 

[   139  1 


REMINISCENCES 

a  hotel  in  which  we  were  to  pass  the  night.  The  trav- 
ellers were  fewer  in  number  than  by  the  earlier  line, 
for  we  could  all  sit  without  crowding  around  one  fire 
of  blazing  logs.  An  attendant  brought  in  a  supply  of 
slippers,  and  placing  a  pair  for  each  person  took  away 
in  exchange  the  boots  to  clean  and  polish.  Early  next 
morning  we  boarded  a  steamboat  that  lay,  with  steam 
up  ready  to  start,  at  the  wharf  alongside  the  hotel, 
and  on  this  by  way  of  Staten  Island  Sound  we  arrived 
at  the  foot  of  Courtlandt  Street,  New  York,  during 
the  forenoon.  Such  was  the  amount  of  intercourse  be- 
tween the  two  cities  in  1830,  and  such  the  means  of 
conveyance. 

Among  my  letters  to  persons  resident  in  New  York 
was  one  to  Mr.  Creighton,  curator  of  the  galleries  of 
the  old  American  Academy  of  Arts,  an  institution 
chartered  in  1 808,  two  years  later  than  that  of  Phila- 
delphia. I  found  him  in  his  rooms  at  the  Academy 
building,  which  stood  on  the  south  side  of  Barclay 
Street,  a  very  short  distance  from  Broadway,  on 
ground  now  occupied  by  the  granite  structure  known 
as  the  Astor  House.  He  was  the  son  of  the  Rev.  J. 
Creighton  of  England,  who  was  prominent  as  asso- 
ciate and  helper  of  John  Wesley,  preaching  zealously 
the  doctrines  and  reform  principles  of  his  leader.  His 
portrait  is  introduced  in  Claxton's  well-known  picture 
of  the  Death-hed  of  Wesley ,  of  which,  by  the  way,  I 
made  a  large  engraving. 


AMERICA 

The  handsome  main  gallery  of  the  Academy,  of  a  pro- 
portion rather  too  narrow  for  its  length,  was  well  filled 
with  pictures  respectable  in  quality.  A  prominent  can- 
vas, which  occupied  the  end  of  the  long  room  and 
formed  the  most  striking  feature  of  the  collection,  was 
a  beautiful  work  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  a  whole- 
length  portrait  of  Benjamin  West,  for  which  I  was 
told  the  Academy  had  paid  two  thousand  dollars.  A 
door  on  one  side  opened  into  another  smaller  gallery, 
piled  with  pictures  of  various  sizes  all  painted  by  John 
Trumbull,  who  was  vice-president  of  the  institution. 
I  remember  being  surprised  at  the  great  difference  be- 
tween the  large  and  the  small  works  in  their  style  of 
execution,  the  latter  being  beautiful  in  spirit  and  touch, 
while  the  former  were  deficient  in  these  qualities.  In 
addition  to  these  two  galleries  were  the  apartments 
of  the  curator  and  his  wife,  and  there  on  the  kind 
invitation  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Creighton  I  dined  with 
them. 

Now  all  the  foregoing  could  not  have  been  only  a 
mere  dream  of  mine,  yet  Daniel  Huntington,  Presi- 
dent of  the  National  Academy  of  Design,  in  his  his- 
tory of  the  old  American  Academy  makes  no  mention 
whatever  that  it  had  ever  been  located  as  I  have  de- 
scribed it.  The  Academy  possessed,  I  understood,  a 
fine  collection  of  casts  which  I  did  not  see.  They  were 
probably  stored  away  somewhere,  most  likely  in  its 
previous  quarters  on  Chambers  Street. 


REMINISCENCES 

Near  the  time  fixed  for  my  permanent  departure  for 
New  York,  I  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Sully  and  other 
artists.  Mr.  Sully  was  warm  in  his  commendation  of 
Philadelphia  as  a  place  of  residence,  and  advised  me 
by  all  means  to  settle  in  it.  He  backed  up  his  persua- 
sion by  giving  me  an  order  to  engrave  for  him  a  por- 
trait of  Bishop  White  that  he  had  painted  from  life. 
The  husband  of  one  of  his  step-daughters,  John  N ea- 
gle the  artist,  commissioned  me  to  engrave  a  plate 
from  a  picture  of  his  that  he  called  Patriotism  and 
Age,  of  which  he  had  painted  duplicates,  one  being 
in  the  possession  of  William  Strickland,  the  architect, 
while  the  other  was  owned  by  Dr.  Dewees,  professor 
in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  He  left  to  me  the 
choice  of  which  to  copy,  and  as  I  thought  Mr.  Strick- 
land's the  best  I  secured  it  of  course.  Mr.  Kennett, 
the  American  bookseller  in  London,  had  given  me  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Henry  C.  Carey,  the  publisher,  and 
from  him  I  received  an  order  to  engrave  a  pidure  of 
a  Miss  Jackson,  painted  by  Sully  in  1808,  the  year  I 
was  born.  It  was  said  at  that  time  that  she  had  been 
considered  the  belle  of  Philadelphia.  Mr.  Thomas 
T.  Ash,  the  publisher,  and  Mr.  Thomas  Doughty 
ordered  a  plate  to  be  done,  in  the  pure  line  manner, 
of  a  deer  in  the  foreground  of  a  landscape. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  with  such  encouragement  I  settled 
down  permanently,  as  Mr.  Sully  advised.  I  took  a 
house  on  South  Ninth  Street,  and  the  first  Sunday  I 

[ 


PATRIOTISM  AND  AGE 
From  an  Engraving  hy  John  Sartam 
after  the  Painting  hy  John  Neagle 


AMERICA 

was  installed  I  was  visited  by  so  many  artists  that  it 
looked  as  if  they  had  come  by  pre-arrangement,  but 
they  said  it  was  not  so.  The  group  included  Sully, 
Neagle,  Eicholtz,  Doughty  the  landscapist,  Cephas 
G.  Childs,  Joshua  Shaw,  and  a  portrait  painter  on  silk 
in  oils  whose  name  I  have  forgotten.  Mr.  Eicholtz 
was  so  much  pleased  with  the  specimens  of  my  work 
that  he  proposed  that  I  should  engrave  for  him  a  pic- 
ture he  had  lately  painted,  the  portrait  of  a  bishop. 
This  he  afterwards  dropped,  substituting  for  it  his 
portrait  of  Nicholas  Biddle,  president  of  the  United 
States  Bank. 

Other  artists  resident  in  Philadelphia  at  that  time  were 
Bass  Otis,  A.  B.  Rockey  and  Robert  Street,  portrait 
painters,  Dickinson  the  miniature  painter,  Thomas 
Birch  the  marine  artist,  and  his  father,  yV'illiam  Birch, 
who  painted  in  enamel  and  engraved,  his  subjects  being 
mostly  views  in  Philadelphia.  Street  was  an  artist  of 
so  eccentric  a  character  as  to  be  regarded  by  many  as 
of  unsound  mind.  Manuel  J.  de  Franca,  a  Portuguese 
artist  from  Funchal  in  the  Island  of  Madeira,  was  in 
the  city,  I  believe,  but  not  yet  known,  and  there  was 
a  young  man  of  excellent  talents  named  Hubbard, 
who  never  appeared  in  artistic  circles  and  remained,  I 
think,  but  a  very  short  time  in  Philadelphia.  He 
painted  a  small  whole-length  sitting  portrait  of  Presi- 
dent Andrew  Jackson,  from  which  I  engraved  a  plate 
in  1832.  I  never  made  Hubbard's  acquaintance,  but 

[  143] 


REMINISCENCES 

he  boarded  with  a  neighbour  of  mine,  and  I  saw  him 
on  the  steps  of  his  house  in  the  fall  of  1830.  In  the 
earlier  part  of  his  career,  before  he  became  a  painter,  he 
was  a  skilful  artist  in  quite  another  line,  that  of  cutting 
profile  likenesses  with  scissors  out  of  paper.  My  friend 
Cameron  told  me  that  for  some  time  he  and  Hubbard 
and  a  friend  had  led  a  sort  of  vagabond  life  on  the 
highways  and  byways  of  northern  France.  Occasion- 
ally, when  their  funds  became  low,  Hubbard  would 
enter  the  inn  of  a  village  and  soon  interest  the  wo- 
men of  the  household  by  his  winning  ways  and  his 
skill  in  cutting  silhouettes.  In  this  manner  he  replen- 
ished their  exchequer  and  they  would  go  on  their  way 
rejoicing.  His  style  of  dress  seemed  to  be  studied  to 
make  him  appear  younger  than  he  really  was,  and 
from  stray  words  dropped  now  and  then  they  guessed 
that  he  had  escaped  from  the  thrall  of  some  travelling 
showman. 

Henry  Inman  cannot  be  included  in  this  list,  because 
he  had  not  yet  removed  his  studio  from  New  York, 
as  he  did  very  soon  after,  nor  had  Rembrandt  Peale 
arrived  from  Europe,  where  he  was  occupied  in  mak- 
ing copies  from  celebrated  masterpieces. 
The  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts  was  at 
this  time  in  anything  but  a  prosperous  condition.  Lo- 
cated as  it  was  far  out  on  Chestnut  Street,  beyond 
Tenth,  it  stood  in  a  kind  of  solitude,  and  paying  vis- 
itors were  few  and  far  between.  The  building  was 

[  144] 


AMERICA 

some  distance  back  from  the  street,  with  a  circular 
grass-plot  in  front,  in  the  centre  of  which  rose  the 
mutilated  antique  marble  statue  of  Ceres,  brought  by 
Commodore  Patterson  from  Megara,  one  of  the  isles 
of  Greece.  On  the  pavement  near  the  curb  were  two 
grand  old  Lombardy  poplars,  whose  roots  had  so 
destroyed  the  level  of  the  brick  sidewalk  as  to  force 
pedestrians  to  be  careful  of  their  steps. 
The  original  structure,  erected  before  the  stockholders 
applied  for  a  charter,  was  a  dome-roofed  rotunda,  fifty 
feet  in  diameter,  with  light  in  the  centre,  but  the  outer 
covering  of  shingles  was  so  decayed  as  to  leak  like  a 
sieve.  It  was  an  amusing  sight  on  a  rainy  day  to  see 
the  floor  spotted  over  with  tubs,  buckets,  basins  and 
other  vessels  that  Mrs.  Scarlet,  the  janitress,  would 
stand  about  to  catch  the  drippings,  which  in  many 
places  had  already  rotted  the  floor. 
Apropos  of  this  list  of  artists  resident  in  Philadelphia 
in  1830  I  think  it  well  to  insert  just  here  a  copy  of  an 
interesting  letter  as  yet  unpublished,  showing  who 
were  the  artists  practising  their  profession  in  this 
country  during  the  last  century.  It  was  written  by 
Charles  Wilson  Peale  in  1812  to  his  son  Rembrandt, 
and  is  dated  from  Bellafield,  October  28.  It  was  given 
to  me  by  the  president  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy 
of  the  Fine  Arts,  Mr.  Caleb  Cope,  who  told  me  that 
it  had  been  found  among  the  papers  of  Rembrandt 
Peale  after  his  death. 


REMINISCENCES 

DEAR  REMBRANDT: 

HAVING  promised  you  an  account  of  the  paint- 
ers that  came  within  my  knowledge  in  the  com- 
mencement of  the  arts  in  America  I  now  commence 
it,  with  a  regret  that  I  have  neglected  it  so  long  as  to 
have  let  slip  in  memory  the  names  of  some  of  them, 
but  by  leaving  a  blank  it  may  be  filled  up  by  inquiry 
amongst  some  of  my  antient  friends.  Among  the  first 
pictures  said  to  be  painted  in  America  I  have  seen  a 
few  portraits  done  by  Kain,  they  were  stiff  and  formal 
and  in  the  dresses  of  the  time,  the  drawing  tolerably 
good  and  I  think  were  like.  Some  of  these  are  in  Mr. 
Hopkinson's  family. 

"In  1768—9  I  visited  Boston  in  the  commencement 
of  my  painting  and  hunting  for  colours  I  found  a 
colour-shop  which  had  some  figures  with  ornamental 
signs  about  it,  these  I  suspect  was  painted  by  a  Mr. 
Smibert.  Becoming  a  little  acquainted  with  the  owner 
of  the  shop  he  told  me  that  a  relation  of  his  had 
been  a  painter,  and  he  said  he  would  give  me  a  feast. 
Leading  me  upstairs  he  introduced  me  into  a  painter's 
room,  an  appropriate  apartment  lined  with  green 
cloth  or  baise,  where  there  were  a  number  of  pictures 
unfinished.  He  had  begun  a  picture,  several  heads 
painted,  of  the  antient  philosophers,  and  some  groups 
of  figures,  these  were  the  last  works  of  Smibert.  He 
had  been  in  Italy  and  spent  a  fortune  in  travelling  to 
gain  knowledge  in  the  art.  Mr.  Copley  very  probably 


AMERICA 

can  give  a  full  account  of  him.  It  was  at  his  shop  I 
heard  of  Mr.  Copley  and  taking  directions  I  went  and 
introduced  myself  to  him  as  a  person  just  beginning 
to   paint  portraits.   He  received   me  very  politely.  I 
found  in  his  room  a  considerable  number  of  portraits, 
many  of  them   highly  finished.   He   lent  me   a  head 
done  by  and  representing  candle  light  which  I  copied. 
But  where  am  I  rambling  ?  this  is  giving  a  part  of  my 
history  instead  of  the  first  known  artists  in  America. 
"I  must  go  back  to  about  the  year  1755,  sometime 
near    that    period   Wollaston    visited    Annapolis    and 
painted  a  number  of  portraits  of  the  first  families  in 
that   city.    He   had   some    instructions   from   a   noted 
drapery  painter  in  London,  and  soon  after  took  his 
passage  to  New  York,  from  thence  he  visited  all  the 
principal  towns  painting,  to  Charlestown,  S.  Carolina, 
and  from  thence  he  returned  to  England.  I  was  in  Lon- 
don when  he  returned  from  the  East  Indies  very  rich. 
He  carried  to  the  East  Indies  two  daughters,  one  or 
both  of  them  married  and  thus  acquired  great  fortunes. 
They  died,  and  the  father,  soon  after  he  arrived  in  Lon- 
don, went  to  Bath  where  I  believe  he  died. 
"The    elder    Hesselius,    a    German,    was    a   portrait 
painter  that  lived  in  Market  Street  between  the  years 
1750  to   1760.  He  went  into  Maryland  and  painted 
some  pictures  at  Annapolis,  his  son  John,  after  Wol- 
laston also  went  to  Annapolis  and  painted  a  consider- 
able number  of  portraits  in  oil. 

[ 


REMINISCENCES 

"About  this  time  West  must  have  made  his  begin- 
ning, his  first  essays  at  portraits  were  perhaps  done 
at  Lancaster  and  I  believe  encouraged  by  the  Shippen 
family.  About  the  same  period  or  a  little  later  young 
Claypole  attempted  portrait  painting,  his  father  was 
a  house  painter  and  glazer.  In  1762  on  a  visit  to 
Philadelphia,  I  went  to  see  the  paintings  of  Mr.  James 
Claypole.  He  was  not  at  home.  I  saw  his  pictures  and 
among  them  one  done  by  Miss  Rench,  whom,  if  I 
mistake  not,  he  married.  After  her  death  he  intended 
to  go  to  London  to  visit  Mr.  West  with  whom  he 
had  been  intimate,  but  meeting  with  a  storm  was 
drove  into  the  West  Indies.  In  the  Island  of  Jamaica 
he  married,  and  settled  there. 

"In  1769  I  went  to  London  with  a  recommendation 
of  Mr.  Allan  the  elder,  who  had  been  a  patron  of 
Mr.  West,  and  with  Mr.  Allan's  family.  Mr.  West 
took  his  passage  to  Italy.  Mr.  Pratt  had  been  with 
Mr.  West  about  two  years  and  had  just  left  London, 
and  Mr.  West  supposed  he  had  returned  to  Philadel- 
phia, but  he  had  been  to  Bristol  sometime  painting 
portraits,  imagining  himself  much  improved  in  his 
mode  of  colouring,  so  related  to  Mr.  West  by  Mr. 
Hambleton,  the  uncle  of  William  Hambleton.  Mr. 
West  told  me  that  the  letters  from  Mr.  Allan  was  the 
best  I  could  bring,  yet  as  an  American  he  should 
cheerfully  assist  me.  He  was  so  polite  as  to  interest 
himself  in  assisting  to  get  me  lodgings  near  to  him, 

[  148] 


AMERICA 

and  as  I  was  a  stranger  I  might  find  difficulties.  He 
went  with  me  to  a  house  which  a  pupil  of  his  had 
lately  occupied,  here  he  found  that  pupil  whom  he 
had  thought  was  returned  to  his  native  place,  New 
York.  Mr.  Delanoy  told  Mr.  West  that  some  circum- 
stances had  occurred  which  had  detained  him  longer 
in  London  than  he  expected,  but  that  now  he  was  on 
the  point  of  taking  his  passage.  Mr.  West,  in  the  most 
friendly  manner  advised  Mr.  Delanoy  to  come  to  his 
house  and  coppy  one  or  two  pictures  to  carry  with  him 
to  America  that  his  friends  would  expect  to  see  some 
of  his  work  and  it  would  be  an  advantage  to  him  in 
many  respects.  This  treatment  to  a  young  man  who 
certainly  ought  to  have  seen  Mr.  West  daily  when 
his  lodging  was  scarcely  a  stone's  throw  distant,  in  my 
opinion  savoured  of  a  want  of  respect  at  least.  The 
circumstance  made  me  to  admire  Mr.  West's  temper  as 
forgiving  and  friendly,  and  it  is  not  the  only  instance 
which  came  within  my  knowledge  of  the  goodness  of 
his  heart  in  the  time  of  my  residence  in  London.  I  shall 
ever  remember  his  kindness  to  me  with  gratitude. 
"Some  few  years  before  I  went  to  England,  on  a  visit 
to  Philadelphia  to  purchase  some  colours,  Mr.  James 
Tilghman,  who  then  resided  there,  told  me  of  a  painter 
who  he  thought  could  give  me  some  information  about 
colours,  that  he  was  a  man  of  considerable  talent,  but 
rather  of  an  eccentric  turn  of  mind.  I  waited  on  Mr. 
Steele  who  received  me  politely  in  his  painting  room, 

[   149  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

the  floor  was  covered  with  drawings,  prints,  colours, 
and  paintings  on  scraps  of  canvas  in  every  direction, 
he  then  had  on  hand  his  own  portrait  on  a  half  length 
canvas;  a  full  face,  very  like,  but  of  too  purple  red 
colour,  his  right  leg  across  his  knee,  therefore  it  was 
in  part  a  whole-length  picture.  I  intended  to  keep  up 
an  acquaintance  with  him.  Rivington,  who  then  kept 
a  book-store  at  the  corner  of  Market  and  Front  Street 
in  who's  store  Mr.  Steele  was  often  seated,  at  this 
store  I  bought  the  Handmaid  to  the  Arts,  it  was  the 
only  book  he  had  on  colours  or  painting.  This  I  be- 
gan to  study  at  my  lodgings  in  order  to  enable  me  to 
form  some  judgment  on  what  colours  I  ought  to  pur- 
chase, also  the  quantity.  Mr.  Marshall,  in  Chestnut 
Street,  the  only  colour  shop  in  the  city,  obligingly 
gave  me  a  list  of  what  colours  he  had  and  the  prices 
annexed.  Going  again  to  see  Mr.  Steele  I  was  a  short 
time  in  his  painting  room  when  there  came  a  rap  at 
the  door.  He  very  cautiously  opened  it,  when  a  per- 
son touched  him  and  said,  'You  are  to  go  with  me!' 
(At  who's  suit  is  this?'  I  understood  it  was  his  wash- 
erwoman. Finding  Mr.  Steele  in  such  a  disagreeable 
situation  I  took  my  leave  of  him.  He  apologized  for 
being  obliged  to  go  out.  This  was  the  last  time  I  saw 
him,  he  was  of  a  respectable  and  wealthy  family  on 
the  eastern  shore  of  Maryland,  had  a  fondness  for 
painting,  I  believe  went  to  Italy  and  spent  his  for- 
tune, and  it  was  said  was  somewhat  deranged  in  his 

[  150] 


AMERICA 

mind.  Some  pieces  I  have  seen  of  his  pencil  seemed 
to  confirm  my  opinion  that  such  was  his  misfor- 
tune. 

"Mr.  Pratt  returned  to  Philadelphia  after  I  was  in 
England,  and  sometime  after  my  return  to  Annapolis 
I  went  to  Philadelphia  in  1772  to  paint  a  portrait  of 
John  Dickinson,  Esq.  for  Mr.  Jennings,  who  was  my 
friend  and  patron  while  in  London.  Mr.  Dickinson 
was  much  celebrated  as  being  the  author  of  the  Far- 
mer's letters.  Mr.  Pratt  had  a  considerable  number 
of  portraits  on  hand  and  had  painted  a  whole-length 
of  Mr.  Dickinson.  At  this  time  I  became  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Semitore,  a  miniature  painter,  he  was  fond 
of  collecting  subjects  of  natural  history,  his  painting 
room  was  ornamented  with  frames  of  butterflies,  and 
he  had  a  considerable  number  of  snakes,  etc.  in  spirits, 
he  also  collected  medals  and  coins.  He  was  a  bachelor 
and  such  was  his  chief  amusement,  however  in  his 
latter  time  he  made  a  sort  of  museum,  displayed  in 
one  or  two  rooms,  chiefly  consisting  of  the  above  and 
of  antic  dresses,  arms,  etc.  he  received  a  small  sum  for 
admission,  and  also  taught  some  young  ladies  draw- 
ing. 

"About  the  year  1773  or  4  a  Swedish  gentleman 
named  Greath  visited  Philadelphia.  It  was  said  that 
he  only  painted  for  his  amusement  and  it  was  a  favour 
to  get  him  to  paint  a  portrait  in  miniature.  He  sold 
a  head  of  Christ,  perhaps  copied  from  a  good  picture, 

C 


REMINISCENCES 

for  a  good  price,  his  stay  was  short  in  the  city.  I  was 
not  acquainted  with  him. 

"Some  years  afterwards  another  Swede  came  to  the 
city  he  brought  with  him  a  number  of  miniature  pic- 
tures, among  them  some  historical  pieces  and  whole 
figures.  He  painted  portraits  in  miniature  and  by 
many  persons  he  was  esteemed  an  excellent  painter, 
several  persons  that  employed  him  found  that  his 
painting  was  not  so  handsome  as  his  other  pictures, 
the  fact  was  that  he  made  his  pictures  too  much  of 
brickdust  colouring,  his  drawing  was  however  good,  a 
very  considerable  recommendation  of  him.  He  told 
me  that  he  thought  he  could  make  a  fortune  in  a 
short  time  in  South  America  and  I  believe  he  went 
there,  and  since  I  have  not  heard  of  him. 
"  Mr.  Bembridge  was  born  in  Philadelphia,  his  mother 
lived  in  a  house  in  Lodge  Alley  the  walls  of  which 
Mr.  Bembridge  covered  with  paintings  as  large  as  life 
coppied  chiefly  from  Raffaelle's  paints,  this  work  was 
accomplished  before  he  was  more  than  seventeen  years 
of  age.  Much  was  expected  from  such  talents  and  he 
was  sent  to  Italy  where  he  spent  many  years,  he  re- 
turned to  Philadelphia  and  after  a  short  stay  he  mar- 
ried Miss  Hetty  Sage,  then  went  to  Charlestown,  S. 
Carolina.  The  climate  perhaps  made  him  indolent  for 
it  is  certain  he  did  not  acquire  much  celebrity,  which 
the  opportunities  he  had  enjoyed  of  improvement  and 
his  early  love  of  the  art,  promised. 

[  152  ] 


AMERICA 

"Miss  Polly  Rench,  sister  to  Mrs.  James  Claypole, 
painted  in  miniature  and  had  the  merit  of  maintaining 
her  mother  and  a  young  brother  by  the  work  of  her 
pencil.  She  was  a  native  of  Maryland  and  probably 
first  embraced  the  idea  of  painting  from  the  connection 
of  her  sister,  but  of  this  I  want  information.  She  mar- 
ried Mr.  Rush,  then  a  young  practitioner  of  the  law, 
since  a  judge.  After  her  marriage  she  never  could  be 
prevailed  on  to  paint  a  single  picture;  she  often  told 
me  that  she  only  followed  the  profession  of  painting 
to  obtain  a  living,  that  it  was  very  disagreeable  to  her 
to  stare  in  the  face  of  gentlemen  as  she  thought  it 
savoured  of  impudence,  to  paint  ladies  portraits  was 
more  agreeable  to  her  feelings. 

"Several  inquiries  may  enable  me  to  correct  many  par- 
ticulars of  the  different  artists  contained  in  the  fore- 
going sketch,  for  that  purpose  I  wish  to  write  to  Mr. 
West,  Copley  and  others  intimate  with  the  arts  prac- 
tised in  America. 

"Mr.  Stuart  who  showed  talent  for  painting  in  his 
native  place,  went  to  London  to  study  under  Mr. 
West,  he  stayed  a  number  of  years  in  London  and 
practised  portrait  painting  with  success,  but  was  negli- 
gent to  finish  what  he  began  or  he  might  very  prob- 
ably have  made  a  fortune  by  his  pencil.  Being  a  man 
of  wit  and  humour  perhaps  these  qualities  might  lead 
him  into  company  and  be  a  cause  of  neglect  of  his 
pencil.  He  went  to  Dublin  where  he  also  met  with 

[  153] 


REMINISCENCES 

success  for  a  time,  returning  to  America  he  has  met 
with  great  encouragement.  I  might  say  much  more  of 
him  but  his  merit  is  well  known. 

"A  few  years  after  our  peace  with  England  numbers 
of  painters  have  come  to  reside  amongst  us,  and  many 
young  men  of  our  country  have  shown  their  talents 
for  the  fine  arts,  and  indeed  the  artists  have  become 
so  numerous  that  I  cannot  undertake  to  make  any 
account  of  them." 

Bellafield,  Qttober  28,  1812. 

The  signature  was  not  appended  to  this  letter  for  the 
obvious  reason  that  Charles  Wilson  Peale  had  yet  a 
few  words  to  add. 

To  conclude  my  memories  of  Philadelphia  as  it  was 
when  I  arrived  in  1830:  there  was  but  one  solitary 
structure  on  Smith's  Island,  the  large  island  opposite 
the  city  in  the  channel  of  the  Delaware  River,  which 
has  recently  been  removed  as  an  obstruction  and  whose 
existence  will  soon  be  forgotten.  A  vessel  had  been 
run  up  on  the  sloping  bank  and  stranded,  and  had 
been  converted  into  a  tavern.  The  principal  attrac- 
tion was  that  this  vessel  had  brought  over  the  news 
of  the  conclusion  of  peace  with  England,  after  the 
war  of  1812.  A  doorway  had  been  cut  in  its  side, 
through  which  the  curious  and  thirsty  passed  in  and 
out.  The  native  whiskey  of  the  day,  which  I  tasted 
there  for  the  first  time,  was  clear  and  limpid  as 

[  154] 


AMERICA 

spring  water;  they  had  not  yet  begun  to  colour  it 
as  they  now  do. 

The  island  with  its  grand  old  trees  exists  no  more. 
Where  it  stood  is  now  a  depth  of  water  twenty-six 
feet  at  low  tide,  thanks  to  an  enormous  expenditure 
of  human  labour  and  of  money  for  the  sake  of  the  im- 
provement of  the  commercial  facilities  of  Philadelphia. 
We  now  have  a  clear,  unobstructed  view  of  the  city  of 
Camden  across  the  mile-wide  waters  of  the  River  Del- 
aware, except  for  the  transient  sails  of  moving  craft. 
The  river  in  some  places  was  in  very  close  proximity 
to  the  city  houses  fronting  on  it.  I  remember  that  near 
the  foot  of  Walnut  Street,  the  south-east  corner  of 
one  building  rose  sheer  out  of  the  water,  so  that  there 
had  been  constructed  around  it  an  L-shaped  wooden 
causeway  supported  by  sloping  struts  secured  to  the 
walls  below.  I  have  often  passed  over  it,  but  always 
somewhat  timorously,  for  it  had  a  very  decayed  and 
unsafe  appearance. 

The  climate  of  Philadelphia  must  have  been  much 
colder  formerly,  for  the  River  Delaware  used  to  be 
frozen  over  regularly  every  winter,  and  I  have  fre- 
quently driven  across  with  my  wife  to  New  Jersey  in  a 
sleigh.  I  had  one  dangerous  experience  in  the  early 
thirties.  I  took  my  two  little  boys  with  me  to  walk 
across  to  Smith's  Island.  Half-way  over,  to  our  dis- 
may we  found  the  ice  broken  into  pieces,  floating  loose 
in  the  water,  and  turning  saw  men  on  the  city  wharves 

[  155] 


REMINISCENCES 

gesticulating  wildly  and  shouting,  though  we  could 
scarcely  hear  them  because  of  the  distance.  I  then  saw 
that  the  plank  by  which  we  had  descended  from  the 
wharf  was  being  constantly  straightened,  and  realized 
that  the  whole  mass  of  ice  upon  which  we  were  stand- 
ing had  broken  loose  and  that  we  were  floating  down 
stream  with  the  tide.  We  ran  as  fast  as  we  could,  but 
on  such  a  slippery  surface,  dragging  a  little  one  by 
each  hand,  I  could  not  progress  as  rapidly  as  the  emer- 
gency demanded.  Finally,  when  we  were  near  the  shore, 
and  just  before  it  would  have  been  too  late,  a  man  ran 
down  the  plank  on  to  the  ice  and  took  the  youngest 
under  his  arm.  But  for  this  timely  assistance  our  situa- 
tion would  have  been  one  of  great  peril. 
Safe  on  the  wharf  I  asked  which  of  the  men  had  come 
to  the  rescue,  and  emptied  my  pocket  into  his  hand. 
On  a  signal  from  him  the  whole  cluster  disappeared 
into  a  tavern  close  by.  A  few  hours  later  I  went  back 
to  look  at  the  place,  and  found  the  river  entirely  free 
from  ice.  What  we  had  walked  on  in  the  morning  was 
only  a  temporary  ice  jam  between  the  island  and  the 
city. 


[  156] 


CHAPTER      XI 

Early  Art  Work  in  Philadelphia — Penn  treaty  Monument 
—Henry  Inman — Piffure  Galleries — Academy  of  the  Fine 
Arts  Fire 

WAS  hardly  through  with  my  first  commis- 
sion when  a  friend  of  mine  named  Cameron, 
— the  same  London  comrade  who  made  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  to  volunteer  in  the  Greek  cause, 
and  who  had  found  consolation  in  marriage  with  a 
sympathizing  widow, — urged  me  to  join  him  in  a  resi- 
dence just  outside  the  city  limits.  The  house,  or  rather 
mansion,  we  took  was  a  little  beyond  Fairmount,  in 
what  is  now  the  East  Park,  and  was  surrounded  by  a 
square  plot  of  four  acres  taken  out  of  Pratt's  grounds, 
and  bounded  on  the  east  by  the  deep  cut  made  by 
Robert  Morris  for  the  projected  canal  that  was  never 
completed. 

The  place  was  owned  by  a  city  alderman,  who  had 
bought  it  for  the  sake  of  the  fine  red  gravel  that  com- 
posed the  hill,  paying  for  it  the  low  price  of  three 
thousand  dollars,  although  the  house  alone  must  have 
cost  at  least  five  or  six  thousand  dollars  to  build.  All 
the  beautiful  places  along  both  sides  of  the  River 
Schuylkill  were  at  that  time  deserted,  on  account  of 
the  prevalence  of  fever  and  ague  caused  by  the  build- 

[  157] 


REMINISCENCES 

ing  of  the  dam  at  Fairmount  by  the  Schuylkill  Nav- 
igation Company.  The  backing  up  of  the  water  over 
ground  previously  exposed  to  light  and  air  generated 
malaria.  Breck's  Island,  so-called  from  Mr.  Samuel 
Breck,  whose  mansion  and  grounds  were  just  opposite 
on  the  west  bank,  had  been  covered  with  a  fine  growth 
of  trees,  and  the  stumps  of  these  remained  above  the 
shallow  water  for  years,  until  they  slowly  decayed. 
The  old  Breck  mansion,  Sweethriar,  has  been  retained 
as  a  place  of  refreshment  and  shelter  in  what  is  now 
the  West  Park.  After  some  seventy  years,  the  original 
healthy  condition  of  all  this  smiling  country  is  restored, 
and  it  is  included  in  the  extensive  Fairmount  Park. 
Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Schuylkill  navigation,  it 
may  be  well  to  refer  to  certain  by-gone  landmarks  that 
were  familiar  to  my  sight.  The  broad  and  deep  cut 
made  through  the  gravel  hill  alongside  of  Pratt's 
Garden,  which  has  since  been  utilized  for  the  Reading 
Railway,  was  intended,  as  I  have  said,  for  the  Robert 
Morris  canal,  the  precursor  of  the  subsequently  per- 
fedted  work  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Well  do  I 
remember  the  continuous  course  dug  for  it,  reaching 
eastward  half-way  through  the  block  to  Thirteenth 
Street  a  little  south  of  Willow,  which  latter  street 
followed  the  former  course  of  Peg's  Run  to  the  Dela- 
ware River. 

Our  mansion  had  been  erected  for  the  father  of  Charles 
R.   Leslie,  the   Royal  Academician.  He  was  a  maker 

[  -58] 


AMERICA 

of  and  dealer  in  clocks,  and  many  are  the  fine  old- 
fashioned  upright  clocks  still  to  be  seen  in  Philadel- 
phia with  the  name  Leslie  engraved  on  the  gray  steel 
face.  The  contractor  who  built  the  house  was  the 
grandfather  of  another  Philadelphia  artist,  Daniel 
Ridgway  Knight,  now  resident  in  Paris. 
We  moved  out  on  the  first  of  April,  1831,  a  day  most 
appropriate  for  a  move  so  foolish.  We  had  been 
warned  that  ague  would  be  a  certain  result,  but  those 
in  perfect  health  are  apt  to  regard  themselves  as  proof 
against  sickness.  It  seems  that  the  experience  of  each 
of  us  has  to  be  purchased  at  our  own  cost.  By  the 
month  of  August  we  were  all  attacked  as  had  been 
predicted,  and  we  were  obliged  to  return  to  town. 
The  malady  which  I  thus  contracted  remained  incur- 
able for  several  months,  reducing  my  good  working 
time  to  every  other  day.  Before  my  recovery  I  had  en- 
graved three  portraits  for  Boston,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Sharp, 
Professor  Ware,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Charles  Lowell. 
Philadelphia  portraits  done  at  the  same  time  were  one 
of  Mr.  Nicholas  Biddle  for  himself,  after  a  painting  by 
Sully,  and  one  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Furness,  also  after 
Sully.  I  engraved  in  addition  all  the  illustrations  for 
an  annual  published  by  Thomas  T.  Ash,  and  numer- 
ous plates  after  Stothard  and  Turner  for  an  edition 
of  Rogers's  Italy. 

The  most  serious  difficulty  with  which  I  had  to  con- 
tend at  the  beginning  was  the  inferior  quality  of  the 

[  159] 


REMINISCENCES 

plate-printing.  Frankfort  black  was  an  article  unknown, 
and  yet  it  is  the  one  sole  material  suitable  for  the  pro- 
duction of  first-class  mezzotint  work.  Accordingly  I 
took  steps  to  import  from  Paris  a  barrel  of  the  proper 
black,  and  also  waited  on  Mr.  Matthias  Baldwin  with 
a  drawing  of  a  press  to  ascertain  the  cost.  It  may  sur- 
prise many  who  now  see  the  enormous  extent  of  the 
Baldwin  Locomotive  Works,  to  learn  that  at  that 
time  the  whole  of  the  establishment  was  comprised 
in  the  back-buildings  of  the  house  still  standing  on  the 
southwest  corner  of  Sixth  and  Minor  Streets.  On  a 
large  sign  between  the  first  and  second  stories  were 
the  words,  "M.  W.  Baldwin,  Engraver." 
There  existed  at  this  time  in  Philadelphia  an  associa- 
tion known  as  the  Penn  Society,  and  one  of  its  objects 
was  to  erect  some  substantial  and  lasting  memorial  to 
the  founder  of  the  state  and  city.  It  took  shape  in  a 
design  ordered  from  Haviland,  the  architect,  a  monu- 
mental obelisk  mounted  on  a  pedestal,  upon  which 
appropriate  inscriptions  were  to  be  carved.  I  saw  the 
model  for  it  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Roberts  Vaux, 
father  of  ex-mayor  Vaux,  who  has  since  presented  it 
to  the  society.  It  was  to  have  been  erected  on  the 
spot  where  the  Treaty  Tree  had  stood  at  Shacka- 
maxon,  but  to  raise  sufficient  funds  for  a  work  of  such 
magnitude  was  at  that  time  by  no  means  easy,  so  the 
commemoration  was  embodied  in  a  less  costly  shape, 
and  in  the  meantime  the  spot  was  marked  by  a  mon- 

[  160] 


AMERICA 

ument  of  quite  modest  pretensions.  A  faithful  portrait 
of  the  tree  itself  had  been  carefully  drawn  by  Thomas 
Birch,  the  marine  painter,  for  his  father,  William  Birch, 
who  published  an  engraving  from  it  in  1800.  Thomas 
could  not  have  been  more  than  fourteen  years  old  at 
that  time,  but  he  assured  me  in  1830  that  he  had 
drawn  it  with  the  utmost  exactness  and  in  every  par- 
ticular precisely  as  he  saw  it.  Ten  years  later  it  was 
blown  down. 

The  Penn  Society,  having  decided  to  relinquish  the 
hopeless  project  of  the  Haviland  monument,  con- 
cluded to  have  a  picture  painted  with  the  money  at 
command.  It  was  quite  natural  that  this  commission 
should  go  to  the  leading  artist  of  the  city,  who  of 
course  could  be  no  other  than  Sully.  He  showed  me 
the  colour  study  he  had  prepared  for  the  composition, 
which  represented  Penn  holding  in  his  hand  the 
charter  he  had  received  from  the  king,  an  open  door 
in  the  background  disclosing  the  brilliant  court  circle 
which  he  had  just  left.  The  formal  contract  for  the 
picture  had  not  been  consummated,  but  what  could 
seem  more  sure  ? 

Cephas  G.  Childs,  known  as  Colonel  Childs,  had  a 
lithographic  establishment.  To  elevate  its  character 
and  credit  he  induced  Henry  Inman  to  remove  from 
New  York  to  Philadelphia  and  join  him  in  his  enter- 
prise, the  firm  being  known  as  Childs  and  Inman, 
Lithographers.  The  real  inducement  to  Inman  was  the 

[  161  j 


REMINISCENCES 

promise  of  numerous  commissions  for  portraits  in  oil, 
which  Childs  knew  he  could  procure  through  his  ex- 
tensive acquaintance.  The  most  important  one  in  view 
was  the  order  for  the  picture  for  the  Penn  Society,  and 
this  Colonel  Childs  succeeded  in  diverting  from  Sully 
to  Inman.  It  was  painted  in  his  studio  in  the  second 
story  of  the  building  at  the  southeast  corner  of  Fifth 
and  Walnut  Streets,  and  now  hangs  in  the  State 
House. 

As  soon  as  Inman  had  completed  the  painting  of 
William  Penn,  the  society  determined  to  commission 
me  to  engrave  a  large  plate  from  it,  and  opened  a  sub- 
scription list  for  the  impressions.  But  they  failed  to 
obtain  enough  to  pay  for  it,  so  I  volunteered  to  as- 
sume the  risk  and  publish  the  engraving  myself,  but 
it  was  never  remunerative.  Afterwards  the  plate  was 
purchased  from  me  by  Mr.  James  S.  Earle. 
When  this  picture  was  finished,  Inman  left  the  city 
and  went  to  reside  in  New  Jersey,  on  a  place  he  had 
bought  near  Mount  Holly.  It  was  here  that  he  painted 
the  small  portrait  of  himself,  half  his  face  shaded  by 
the  brim  of  a  straw  hat,  which  is  now  the  property  of 
the  Pennsylvania  Academy.  It  was  done  at  one  brief 
sitting,  to  show  three  young  artists  how  he  worked. 
Two  of  them,  Debeaugh  and  another  whose  name  I 
fail  to  recall,  had  received  an  invitation  to  visit  the 
artist.  On  their  way  to  the  Camden  ferry,  whom 
should  they  meet  but  Matthew  Parker,  who  hailed 

[  162] 


AMERICA 

them  with  "Whither  away,  boys?"  They  told  him, 
when  he  promptly  said  he  would  go  too.  He  was  not 
of  the  kind  to  inquire  if  his  company  were  agreeable, 
and  neither  of  the  two  had  the  courage  to  try  to  shake 
him  off. 

When  the  lesson  was  over  Inman  gave  them  the  pic- 
ture, and  it  was  decided  by  lot  which  of  the  three 
should  possess  it.  To  the  vexation  and  mortification 
of  the  others,  it  was  the  interloper,  Matthew  Parker, 
who  drew  the  prize. 

The  chief  inheritance  Parker  had  received  from  his 
father  was  consumption  of  the  lungs.  When  he  was  in 
his  last  illness  the  family  sent  for  me,  and  he  told  me 
they  would  be  grateful  to  me  if  I  would  find  a  pur- 
chaser for  the  little  painting  by  Inman.  I  took  it  to 
Mr.  John  Towne,  who  bought  it  at  once,  and  the  fifty 
dollars  he  paid  for  it  I  carried  that  same  evening  to 
the  Parkers.  I  had  supposed  that  the  Academy  re- 
ceived the  picture  direct  from  Mr.  Towne,  but  Mr. 
Bonfield  says  he  knows  for  certain  that  Colonel  Childs 
owned  it  after  Mr.  Towne. 

Those  who  enjoyed  viewing  works  of  art  were  not 
obliged  to  go  so  far  west  as  Tenth  Street,  to  the  Acad- 
emy of  the  Fine  Arts.  They  could  gratify  their  taste  in 
Sully  and  Earle's  Gallery  on  Chestnut  Street  next  to 
the  corner  of  Fifth,  opposite  the  east  wing  of  the 
State  House.  It  was  filled  with  pictures  of  fairly  good 
quality,  but  the  north  wall  held  a  large  painting,  the 

C  163] 


REMINISCENCES 

finest  that  up  to  that  time  had  ever  been  brought  to 
this  country.  It  was  by.  James  Ward  of  London,  a 
Royal  Academician.  The  artist  had  sent  it  as  his  con- 
tribution to  the  annual  spring  exhibition  of  the  Royal 
Academy  at  Somerset  House,  and  the  committee  had 
rejected  it.  The  motive  for  such  an  aft  seems  inscruta- 
ble, unless  they  thought  the  subject  too  horrible  for 
exhibition  before  a  promiscuous  public,  for  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  any  other  of  the  forty  Academicians  could 
have  produced  so  powerful  a  work.  It  represented  a 
man  on  horseback  in  the  coils  of  an  anaconda,  of  full 
life-size,  a  piece  of  terrific  realism  and  unsurpassed 
mastery  of  execution. 

Mr.  Earle  met  the  painter  in  London  while  he  was 
smarting  under  the  humiliation  of  this  action  of  the 
hanging  committee,  and  he  gladly  sold  the  picture  for 
exportation  to  America,  saying  that  Mr.  West  had 
sent  a  large  canvas  to  Philadelphia  and  he  should  like 
to  have  one  there  too.  Before  the  ship  which  bore  it 
reached  its  destination,  it  encountered  a  violent  storm 
that  drove  it  so  far  out  of  its  course  that  it  sought 
refuge  in  the  harbour  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 
During  the  detention  there  for  repairs,  Mr.  Earle 
opened  an  exhibition  of  his  painting,  and  the  success 
and  profit  of  the  display  proved  equally  remarkable. 
Arrived  at  length  in  Philadelphia,  Mr.  Earle  secured 
an  exhibition  room  in  Cook's  building  at  the  south- 
east corner  of  Third  and  Market  Streets,  commonly 


AMERICA 

known  as  Cook's  Folly,  a  sneer  usually  bestowed 
upon  men  at  all  in  advance  of  their  time.  I  remember 
it  well,  my  attention  having  been  drawn  to  it  by  the 
novel  and  pretentious  features  of  its  architecture. 
In  addition  to  the  various  paintings  Mr.  Earle  had 
collected,  his  gallery  contained  a  number  of  framed 
prints  from  Boydell's  folio  edition  of  Shakespeare, 
which  he  had  purchased  in  London.  Business  pros- 
pered so  well  that  he  built  the  fine  gallery  on  Chest- 
nut Street  in  partnership  with  Mr.  Sully,  and  here  ex- 
hibited advantageously,  under  perfect  lighting,  his  great 
picture  by  Ward,  and  a  collection  of  paintings  by 
Sully,  Shaw,  Birch,  Doughty  and  others.  Among  them 
were  two  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  one  of  which,  a 
man's  portrait,  belonged  to  Mr.  Sully.  It  had  been 
purchased  for  him  in  London  by  Charles  R.  Leslie, 
and  disappointed  him  greatly  when  it  reached  him, 
for  it  was  an  early  work,  painted  in  a  hard,  laboured, 
spiritless  manner.  The  other  was  also  early  work,  and 
was  chiefly  interesting  as  showing  what  unpromising 
beginnings  may  sometimes  have  been  developed  by 
intelligent  study  and  practice  into  remarkable  talent. 
It  was  a  family  group,  painted  to  below  the  knee  only, 
although  on  a  large  canvas.  A  little  girl  on  the  right 
stood  in  a  ridiculous  attitude,  her  left  hand  on  her 
hip  as  if  mimicking  some  military  hero,  instead  of  rest- 
ing in  the  natural  ease  of  childhood,  a  pose  the  more 
surprising  in  view  of  Reynolds's  exquisite  rendering  of 

[  165] 


REMINISCENCES 

children  in  his  maturer  years.  The  pifture  was  a  poor 
affair,  yet  its  authenticity  is  beyond  question,  for  it  has 
never  been  out  of  the  'possession  of  the  George  M. 
Dallas  family,  for  whom  it  was  painted. 
The  location  of  the  Academy  on  Chestnut  Street  be- 
yond Tenth  was  so  far  west,  as  I  have  said,  as  to  be 
virtually  a  solitude.  Seldom  were  visitors  seen  to  pass 
up  the  wooden  steps  of  the  porch  to  enliven  the  lone- 
liness. The  entire  structure  consisted  of  the  original 
rotunda,  built  in  1805,  of  a  gallery  fifty  feet  long  to 
the  north  of  it,  and  of  another,  sixty  feet  long,  to 
the  east  of  it,  filled  with  casts  from  the  antique.  This 
fine  collection  of  casts  was  a  donation  from  the  first 
Napoleon,  obtained  through  the  influence  of  Mr. 
Nicholas  Riddle.  They  were  all  destroyed  by  the  fire 
of  1 844,  and  many  valuable  and  important  ones  have 
never  been  replaced,  among  them  the  beautiful  Venus 
of  the  Capitol,  the  original  model  of  Mephistopheles  by 
Petrick,  and  a  cast  of  the  colossal  statue  of  Milo  by 
Lough,  the  English  sculptor  who  modelled  the  group 
of  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithae  now  in  the  Academy. 
When  the  decayed,  leaky  roof  of  shingles  was  replaced 
by  one  of  slate,  the  old  stuff  was  stacked  as  kindling 
wood  under  the  gallery  of  casts.  And  excellent  kin- 
dling it  proved  later  on,  when  the  lunatic  brother  of 
Mrs.  Suis,  the  janitress,  stole  over  to  it  in  the  night 
time  from  the  west  side  of  the  building,  where  he  slept, 
and  set  it  aflame.  The  fire  destroyed  the  gallery  above 

[  '66] 


AMERICA 

with  all  its  contents,  and  extended  its  havoc  into  the 
north  gallery,  among  valuable  pictures.  On  the  east 
wall  hung  Benjamin  R.  Haydon's  enormous  canvas, 
Christ's  Entry  into  Jerusalem,  which  had  to  be  cut  from 
its  frame  by  men  mounted  on  ladders,  who  were  del- 
uged meanwhile  from  the  firemen's  hose  to  enable 
them  to  stand  the  heat.  It  was  dragged  out  of  the 
building  like  an  old  blanket,  as  was  also  West's  big 
picture  of  Death  on  the  Pale  Horse,  which  hung  on  the 
north  wall  and  was  rescued  in  the  same  manner.  The 
latter  only  was  the  property  of  the  Academy.  The 
Entry  into  Jerusalem,  which  had  been  deposited  by  the 
owner,  now  adorns  the  art  museum  of  Cincinnati. 
The  circular  wall  of  the  rotunda  was  varied  above  for 
architectural  effect  by  eight  sunken  panels,  one  of 
which  was  pierced  through  to  the  eastern  gallery  for 
ventilation.  In  front  of  this  opening  hung  a  valuable 
picture  by  Murillo,  which  was  quickly  and  irretriev- 
ably destroyed  by  the  fierce  flame  that  poured  through 
from  the  room  behind  it.  The  other  paintings  in  the 
rotunda  were  only  temporarily  damaged  by  smoke. 
The  Murillo  had  belonged  to  Charles  the  Fourth, 
king  of  Spain,  and  represented  the  Roman  daughter 
nourishing  her  father  in  the  Tullian  prison,  where  he 
had  been  condemned  to  die  by  starvation.  The  king 
presented  it  to  Godoy,  "Prince  of  the  Peace,"  who  re- 
garded it  as  the  finest  ornament  of  one  of  his  palaces. 
At  the  time  of  his  downfall  and  the  looting  of  his 

[  167] 


REMINISCENCES 

houses  by  the  mob,  it  came  into  the  hands  of  an  en- 
graver named  Enguidarrus,  who,  when  the  French  in 
Madrid  were  sending  everything  valuable  in  art  to 
Paris,  rolled  it  up  inside  another  inferior  picture,  a 
Virgin  destined  for  the  altar  of  a  church  of  a  neigh- 
bouring village,  succeeded  in  evading  the  vigilance  of 
the  authorities  at  the  city  gate,  and  got  the  picture 
safely  to  Cadiz.  Here  it  came  into  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Meade,  and  from  him  it  was  bought  by  the 
academy. 

The  purchase  of  West's  Death  on  the  Pale  Horse,  by  the 
Pennsylvania  Academy,  was  effected  in  1835  through 
the  agency  of  Cephas  G.  Childs,  who  confided  the 
negotiation  to  Mr.  Bacon  of  London.  I  have  in  my 
possession  Mr.  Bacon's  letters,  to  Colonel  Childs,  ob- 
tained from  the  colonel's  estate  after  his  death,  detail- 
ing his  progress  in  the  transaction,  and  also  the  formal 
bill  of  items.  At  the  time  of  the  purchase  the  canvas 
had  been  removed  from  the  stretcher  and  was  rolled 
up,  and  appeared  to  belong  to  Raffaelle  West,  but  was 
not  in  his  possession.  Mr.  Bacon  surmised  that  it  was 
held  for  a  loan.  Bell's  Weekly  Messenger  had  stated  in 
its  account  of  the  sale  of  Benjamin  West's  pictures  for 
settling  up  his  estate,  that  Death  on  the  Pale  Horse  had 
been  purchased  by  Mr.  Kirshaw,  but  he  may  have 
been  bidding  as  agent  only.  I  saw  it  at  that  time  in 
Newman  Street,  when  exhibited  for  the  West  sale. 
It  hung  on  the  south  wall,  and  directly  opposite  was 

[  168] 


CO 
GO 


•    .« 


X  |JO 

O  -SS 

w  £ 

u  g 

5  Q 


H  ^ 

e^  ^ 

-•  ? 

*  [i; 


AMERICA 

Christ  Rejeffed,  now  also  in  the  Pennsylvania  Academy 
of  the  Fine  Arts,  a  present  from  Mrs.  Joseph  Harri- 
son. These  works  were  seen  to  great  advantage  in  the 
Newman  Street  gallery,  from  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  lighted.  A  canopy  resting  on  slender  pillars 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  its  opaque  roof  con- 
cealing the  skylight  from  the  spectator,  who  stood 
thus  in  a  sort  of  half-obscure  dimness,  while  both  pic- 
tures received  the  full  flood  of  light.  The  effect  was 
very  fine  and  at  that  time  novel. 

When  the  new  acquisition  of  the  Academy  arrived  in 
Philadelphia  it  was  opened  on  exhibition  to  the  pub- 
lic; not  in  the  academy  building,  but  by  permission 
of  city  councils  in  Independence  Hall,  in  the  ground 
floor  room  to  the  east  of  the  central  entrance  of  the 
State  House.  It  was  a  great  success,  and  whenever  I 
went  there  I  found  a  crowd  of  paying  visitors  viewing 
the  picture.  This  was  West's  last  great  work,  for  he 
died  within  two  years  after  its  completion.  It  was 
painted  in  his  eightieth  year. 

In  1837  I  went  in  search  of  the  farm-house  near 
Darby,  Pennsylvania,  in  which  the  artist  was  born.  I 
was  directed  thither  by  Mr.  Sully,  who  had  gone  on  a 
similar  pilgrimage  many  years  before,  to  gratify  a  wish 
of  West  himself,  who  desired  to  have  a  representation 
of  the  house  and  explained  to  Sully  how  he  might 
find  it.  The  cut  here  inserted  is  a  copy  of  the  sketch 
I  then  made.  The  other  sketch  made  at  the  same  time 

C  169] 


REMINISCENCES 

represents  the  Friends'  Meeting  House  in  which  the 
congregation  discussed  the  question  whether  they  could 
conscientiously  countenance  the  boy  Benjamin's  enter- 
ing upon  so  frivolous  an  occupation  as  pictu re-making. 
The  building  remains  the  same  to  this  day,  but  the  tree, 
a  New  England  elm,  has  died  of  old  age. 


[  170] 


CHAPTER      XII 

Thomas  Bishop  and  Dr.  Ahercromhie — Joshua  Shaw, 
Artists'  Fund  Society  and  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts — 
Ivanhoe's  Rebecca — John  N eagle  and  David  Eduin 

;N  1833  I  became  acquainted  with  Thomas 
Bishop,  the  painter  in  enamel,  who  at  that 
time  resided  but  a  short  distance  from  where 
I  lived.  He  was  very  old,  a  good  deal  past  eighty,  but 
was  yet  singularly  robust.  One  day  I  saw  him  in  the 
street  walking  towards  me,  and  felt  surprised  at  his 
firm  steps,  almost  strides,  and  his  large  figure  filling 
the  eye  as  he  approached.  Yet  when  sitting  in  conver- 
sation he  looked  aged,  almost  feeble;  his  thin,  delicate 
features,  aquiline  nose,  gray  and  sparkling  eye  are  so 
distinctly  impressed  on  my  memory  that  it  seems  but 
as  yesterday.  I  was  with  him  a  good  deal  of  an  even- 
ing, because  he  pressed  me  so  earnestly  to  come,  and 
when  I  failed  he  complained  almost  reproachfully,  so 
that  I  felt  constrained  to  go,  whether  I  ought  to  have 
been  elsewhere  or  not. 

Thus  I  came  to  learn  much  of  his  eventful  history, 
for  he  had  lived  in  France,  England,  and  Portugal 
as  well  as  America,  and  during  stirring  times.  He  re- 
sided in  Paris  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  first  French 
Revolution  in  1789.  He  had-  studied  medicine,  and 


REMINISCENCES 

had  also  learned  the  art  of  painting  in  enamel  while 
there.  But  the  turmoil  of  the  struggle  in  Paris  drove 
him  away  and  he  returned  to  London,  the  place  of 
his  birth. 

Had  I  asked  questions  or  shown  curiosity  he  would 
have  told  me  everything  unreservedly  about  his  life  in 
London,  but  my  habit  was  to  sit  quiet  and  simply 
listen  to  whatever  he  chose  to  say.  One  very  serious 
story  he  told  me.  An  acquaintance  of  his,  a  frequent 
visitor  at  his  house,  induced  him  to  undertake  the 
collection  of  money  due  him  in  distant  parts  of  Eng- 
land. On  Bishop's  return  he  found  his  home  desolate, 
his  wife,  his  friend,  and  most  of  what  he  possessed 
were  gone,  he  knew  not  whither.  The  moneys  he  had 
collected  about  balanced  his  pecuniary  losses,  but  what 
on  earth  could  console  him  for  the  other  void  ?  Many 
years  afterwards  he  heard  of  his  wife  again  and  learned 
that  she  had  died  miserably. 

As  his  life  in  Paris  had  been  broken  up  by  the  rising 
of  the  French  people  against  their  oppressors,  so  after- 
wards in  Portugal  his  peace  was  again  disturbed  by  the 
inroad  of  the  all-conquering  armies  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon.  This  time  he  did  not  return  to  London, 
but  availed  himself  of  an  opportunity  that  presented 
of  sailing  to  America,  landed  at  Philadelphia,  and  made 
his  home  in  Germantown.  I  think  it  was  while  there 
that  he  was  received  into  the  Society  of  Friends,  with 
whom  he  remained  associated  until  his  death. 

[  172] 


AMERICA 

During  my  intimacy  with  him  a  most  remarkable  in- 
cident occurred.  Thomas  Bishop  painted  in  enamel, 
as  I  have  already  said,  and  I  frequently  saw  many  of 
his  productions  in  this  line.  Among  them  were  two 
of  such  exquisite  beauty  that  I  always  doubted  that 
they  were,  as  he  claimed,  his  own  work,  the  rest  were 
all  so  far  inferior  to  them.  One  was  a  copy  after 
Boucher  of  two  children,  boy  and  girl,  playing  shep- 
herd and  shepherdess.  The  other  was  an  upright  oval 
of  a  female  figure  seated  by  a  fountain,  the  body  nude, 
with  a  reddish-brown  drapery  thrown  across  the  lap. 
This  Venus,  as  it  was  called,  was  of  such  striking  and 
wonderful  beauty  that  no  one  who  had  once  seen  it 
could  ever  forget  it.  Mr.  James  McMurtrie  wanted 
to  buy  it,  but  the  hundred  dollars  he  offered  was  only 
one-fifth  the  price  asked. 

An  American  in  Paris  remarked  to  a  Mr.  Bishop  liv- 
ing there  that  he  knew  a  namesake  of  his  in  Phila- 
delphia, a  very  old  man,  who  possessed  an  enamel  of 
a  Venus,  the  most  beautiful  thing  of  the  kind  he  had 
ever  seen  in  the  course  of  his  life.  This  was  startling 
information,  for  Mr.  Bishop  remembered  such  an 
enamel  in  the  possession  of  his  father,  of  whom  he 
had  heard  nothing  for  half  a  century.  A  few  questions 
fixed  the  identity  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  He 
hastened  across  the  ocean  in  search  of  his  long-lost 
parent,  and  the  artist  embraced  as  a  white-haired  man 
the  lamented  son  who  had  disappeared  as  a  child  in 

[  173] 


REMINISCENCES 

the  flight  from  the  Reign  of  Terror;  and  this  glad- 
some reunion  was  brought  about  by  a  little  painting 
only  two  inches  long. 

Mr.  Bishop's  circle  of  acquaintance  was  rather  limited, 
but  it  included  old  Dr.  Abercrombie,  whom  I  knew 
before  I  met  Bishop.  He  lived  at  that  time  in  a 
brick  house  dark  with  age,  of  a  most  singular  style 
of  architecture,  situated  on  the  south  side  of  Union 
Street,  a  few  doors  east  of  Fourth,  which  has  long  since 
disappeared.  During  a  severe  illness  of  Mr.  Bishop, 
Dr.  Abercrombie  and  I  each  called  every  morning  to 
inquire  after  his  condition,  and  as  regularly  expeded 
to  hear  that  all  was  over.  I  of  course  discreetly  sup- 
pressed the  surprise  I  felt  at  his  lingering  so  long, 
but  it  seems  Dr.  Abercrombie  was  not  always  so  care- 
ful. Mrs.  Bishop  told  me  one  day  that  he  had  hurt 
her  feelings  very  much.  On  hearing  the  usual  report 
he  had  exclaimed,  "What!  not  dead  yet?"  He  con- 
tinued, "Well,  I  am  not  able  to  come  any  more,  but 
I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  let  me  know  when  he  dies. 
He  and  I  are  old  friends,  and  I  should  like  to  attend 
his  funeral."  It  turned  out  very  curiously  that  he 
never  had  the  opportunity  to  follow  him  to  his  grave. 
Bishop  revived  and  got  well,  and  it  was  he  who  at- 
tended Abercrombie's  funeral. 

Mr.  Smith,  the  librarian  of  the  Philadelphia  Library, 
insisted  one  day  when  I  was  talking  of  some  incidents 
of  my  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Abercrombie,  that  it  was 

[  174] 


AMERICA 

impossible  that  I  could  have  known  him,  "for,"  said 
he,  "the  doctor  corresponded  with  Boswell,  Dr.  John- 
son's biographer,  and  he  died  some  five  years  before 
the  close  of  the  last  century."  When  convinced  of  the 
facl,  Smith  assured  me  I  was  "no  chicken." 
Among  the  odd  and  quaint  anecdotes  of  his  experi- 
ences with  which  old  Mr.  James  Steel,  the  engraver, 
often  amused  me,  he  related  one  in  connection  with 
Dr.  Abercrombie.  When  he  and  his  brother  were  boys 
they  agreed  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  them  to 
study  grammar,  so  they  went  to  the  doclor  to  ask  his 
terms  for  giving  them  lessons.  He  resided  then  on 
Lombard  Street  opposite  the  Universalist  church,  at 
number  119  old  style.  They  were  shown  into  the 
back  parlour,  where  they  found  the  doctor  seated  at  a 
table  piled  high  with  papers.  The  boys  stood  silent 
for  some  time,  feeling  shy  in  the  august  presence  of 
the  great  dominie,  but  at  last  one  of  them  plucked  up 
courage  to  say  in  timid  accents,  "If  you  please,  sir,  do 
you  learn  people  grammar?"  "No,"  thundered  the 
dodor;  then,  after  a  pause,  "but  I  teach  it  to  them." 
"Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  one,  and  thoroughly 
abashed  they  got  themselves  out  of  the  house  as  best 
they  could,  and  never  returned  there. 
Manuel  de  Franga  was  a  good  artist  with  whom  I  was 
very  intimate  in  the  early  days.  I  gave  him  a  commis- 
sion to  paint  my  wife's  portrait,  and  afterwards  took 
lessons  from  him  in  figure  painting  in  oil.  He  was  a 

[  175] 


REMINISCENCES 

Portuguese,  and  when  he  first  came  to  Philadelphia, 
he  had  difficulty  in  obtaining  orders,  as  was  natural, 
for  he  had  yet  to  acquire  facility  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. He  was  a  native  of  Funchal  in  the  island  of  Ma- 
deira, and  when  the  liberals  revolted  against  the  Don 
Miguel  government,  he  joined  the  popular  movement. 
When  the  insurrection  was  suppressed  he,  with  a  large 
number  of  compatriots,  was  imprisoned  and  con- 
demned to  be  shot.  Sympathizing  friends  contrived 
their  escape  and  smuggled  them  on  board  a  vessel 
which  landed  them  in  due  course  safe  in  Philadelphia. 
Intimately  associated  with  de  Franca  was  Joshua 
Shaw,  a  landscape  painter  of  excellent  talents,  who  was 
also  the  inventor  of  the  percussion  cap,  wafer  priming 
for  cannon,  etc.  During  the  first  twenty-five  years  of 
his  career  in  this  country  he  was  the  best  artist  in  his 
branch  in  the  United  States.  His  style  was  somewhat 
formal  and  mechanical,  but  his  touch  was  firm,  his 
tints  pure,  and  the  composition  of  his  larger  pictures 
noble  and  effective.  Those  well  acquainted  with  the 
work  of  his  predecessors  saw,  however,  that  he  did  not 
scruple  to  make  use  of  what  pleased  him.  His  fine  pic- 
ture of  The  Dry  Arch  was  a  free  repetition  of  a  painting 
by  Loutherburg,  and  a  large  canvas  exhibited  at  the 
Pennsylvania  Academy  in  1832,  representing  the  chase 
of  a  stag,  was  after  Rubens,  but  the  public  of  that  day 
was  none  the  wiser.  In  England  he  had  lived  in  the 
city  of  Bath.  He  came  over  in  1816,  in  the  same  ship 


AMERICA 

that  brought  Benjamin  West's  Christ  Healing  the  Sick 
in  the  Temple,  presented  by  the  painter  to  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Hospital,  and  West  confided  to  him  the  unpack- 
ing of  his  picture  when  it  should  arrive  at  its  destina- 
tion, and  the  placing  it  in  a  proper  light.  Shaw  formed 
his  style  on  that  of  Ibbetson,  a  Royal  Academician 
whose  freedom  and  crispness  of  touch  led  West  to  call 
him  the  Berghem  of  England.  Some  artists  asked  Ibbet- 
son what  was  his  secret  by  which  he  imparted  such  a 
peculiar  quality  to  his  paint,  and  he  answered,  "Oh, 
that 's  my  gumption."  He  finally  agreed  to  teach  it  to 
a  very  limited  number  for  a  certain  sum  of  money, 
which  was  subscribed  among  them.  He  prepared  the 
vehicle  before  them,  and  it  came  to  be  called  in  a 
jocular  way  by  the  word  he  had  used,  "gumption." 
Shaw  told  me  he  was  one  of  the  group,  and  he  in 
turn,  for  a  consideration,  taught  me  Ibbetson's  secret, 
which  was  as  follows:  Sugar  of  lead,  i  part;  gum  mas- 
tic (excluding  all  discoloured  grains),  2  parts,  in  bulk. 
Mix  dry  and  crush  extremely  fine  with  a  glass  muller 
on  a  glass  slab.  Then  grind  exceedingly  fine  in  raw 
linseed  and  poppy  oil.  After  repeated  additions  of 
oil  during  grinding  it  will  solidify  and  become  like 
hard  white  soap.  Keep  it  in  a  vessel  under  water,  and 
cut  off  a  small  portion  to  mix  with  every  colour  you 
use. 

I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  Thomas  Stothard 
must  have  been  one  of  the  same  group  of  disciples, 

[  177  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

for  here  is  Stothard's  palette  as  written  out  by  him- 
self for  a  friend : 

Sugar  of  lead]  Ground  dry  together,  afterwards  ground  in 

Mastic  gum    }  oil. 

Linseed  oil. 

Water  as  much  as  it  will  take. 

1.  F.  White. 

2.  r.  Ochre. 

3.  J^ermillion. 

4.  L.  Red  Ochre. 

5.  Lake  with  a  very  little  Indian  Red. 

6.  Dark  Ochre. 

7.  Bone  Brown. 

8.  Ivory  Black. 

9.  Raw  'Terra  di  Sienna. 
10.  Antwerp  Blue. 

It  is  my  belief  that  when  Stothard  used  the  word 
water  he  meant  saliva,  the  effecl:  of  which  on  the 
artist's  palette  was  taught  to  John  Neagle  by  Gilbert 
Stuart.  While  Neagle  was  painting  Stuart's  portrait  in 
Boston  in  1824,  the  weather  was  very  hot  and  drying, 
and  his  colours  became  ropy  and  unmanageable.  Stuart 
as  he  posed  saw  the  trouble  the  artist  was  having  with 
his  paint,  and  asked  him  if  he  did  not  know  how  to 
remedy  it.  Neagle  acknowledged  he  did  not.  "Well, 
hand  me  your  palette  and  knife  and  I  will  show  you." 
He  then  spat  in  the  colour  and  with  rapid  motion  of 

[  '78] 


AMERICA 

the  knife  mixed  it  in  thoroughly,  treating  each  pig- 
ment in  succession  in  the  same  way.  Neagle  told  me 
the  effect  was  magical,  the  paint  afterwards  so  readily 
obeyed  every  touch. 

Joshua  Shaw  was  very  apt  to  get  into  quarrels,  and  it 
was  this  contentious  spirit  which  made  him  take  so 
prominent  a  part  in  organizing  the  Artists'  Fund  So- 
ciety in  1835,  'm  order  to  antagonize  the  Pennsylvania 
Academy.  Less  than  two  years  after,  he  quarrelled  bit- 
terly with  the  president  of  the  Artists'  Fund  Society, 
John  Neagle,  and  then  gathered  about  him  enough 
of  the  artistic  element  to  antagonize  that  body  in  turn 
by  establishing  the  Artists'  and  Amateurs'  Association. 
He  succeeded  in  this  by  incorporating  into  it  the  lot- 
tery feature  of  an  art-union.  The  prospect  of  dispos- 
ing of  pictures  by  this  means  was  so  attractive  that  he 
won  over  Leutze  and  de  Franca  to  his  scheme,  with  a 
number  of  others  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  term 
"small  fry."  Their  exhibition  was  held  in  the  hall  over 
the  Chestnut  Street  Arcade,  where  Peale's  Museum 
had  previously  been.  In  the  second  year  he  started  a 
violent  quarrel  with  the  management  of  his  last-formed 
society,  contending  with  the  amateur  division  over  the 
custody  of  the  funds,  which  he  claimed  belonged  with 
the  artists'  branch,  since  the  money  was  produced  by 
the  display  of  their  works.  Shaw,  though  an  excellent 
artist  and  inventor,  was  so  disputatious  that  it  seemed 
impossible  to  get  along  with  him  harmoniously.  His 

[  179] 


REMINISCENCES 

character  and  career  may  be  summed  up  in  words  ap- 
plied by  Byron  to  another  uneasy  spirit: 

His  life  was  one  long  war  with  self-sought  foes 
Or  friends  hy  him  self-banished. 

In  founding  the  Artists'  Fund  Society,  Shaw's  argu- 
ment against  the  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts  was  that 
it  was  organized  on  the  basis  of  a  joint-stock  concern 
managed  by  a  board  of  directors  chosen  from  among 
the  stockholders,  most  of  whom  were  not  in  sympathy 
with  artists  and  knew  little  or  nothing  about  art;  that 
it  was  called  an  academy  and  yet  gave  no  instruction ; 
that  it  depended  for  support  mainly  on  the  profits 
from  annual  exhibitions  of  the  works  of  artists,  who 
yet  had  no  voice  in  the  management.  The  inaugural 
meeting  of  professionals  was  presided  over  by  Thomas 
U.  Walter,  the  architect  then  just  appointed  to  plan 
the  buildings  for  Girard  College;  John  Neagle  was 
elected  president  and  Thomas  Birch  vice-president. 
Annual  exhibitions  being  at  once  started,  those  at  the 
Academy  necessarily  ceased.  After  the  third  successful 
display  a  fund  was  raised,  chiefly  by  subscription  of 
friends,  for  the  construction  of  a  properly  lighted  gal- 
lery with  a  skylight.  The  Academy  solved  the  diffi- 
culty as  to  location  by  granting  permission  to  erect  it 
over  the  two  shops  already  standing  in  front  of  their 
own  lot,  on  the  house-line  of  Chestnut  Street;  the 
Academy  itself  to  be  reached  through  a  wide  passage 

[  180] 


AMERICA 

under  the  Artists'  Fund  Society  Gallery  and  between 
the  two  shops.  A  ten  years'  lease  was  given,  at  a  rental 
of  three  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  per  annum,  the 
equivalent  of  the  ground  rent  paid  for  the  entire  lot. 
The  first  exhibition  in  the  new  gallery  was  held  in  the 
spring  of  1841,  and  proved  a  success,  for  the  location 
was  no  longer  the  solitude  it  had  been  eleven  years 
before,  the  tide  of  business  and  popularity  having 
taken  a  decided  trend  westward  along  Chestnut  Street. 
All  attempts  to  draw  Sully  into  these  associations 
failed.  He  had  grown  too  wise  by  experience  to  part 
with  the  peace  and  tranquillity  he  so  prized,  and  which 
he  well  knew  must  be  the  cost  of  such  a  step.  An 
amiable  and  genial  gentleman,  he  shunned  the  contro- 
versy and  contention  inseparable  from  active  member- 
ship in  Societies.  He  had  been  a  director  in  the  Acad- 
emy, but  his  views  of  the  best  way  to  create  a  public 
interest  in  the  institution  were  not  shared  by  his  col- 
leagues, and  seeing  no  good  in  prospect  he  retired. 
John  Neagle,  who  had  been  a  director,  also  withdrew. 
The  disastrous  fire  in  the  Academy  occurred  after  the 
fourth  annual  exhibition  held  by  the  Artists'  Fund 
Society  in  its  new  hall,  and  led  to  the  termination  of 
the  lease,  under  a  clause  in  the  agreement  which  gave 
the  Academy  power  to  remove  the  building  at  any 
time  upon  payment  of  one-half  the  cost  of  construc- 
tion. In  rebuilding,  the  directors  adopted  a  plan  which 
increased  the  old  accommodations  extensively,  adding 


REMINISCENCES 

five  new  galleries  to  the  east,  west  and  north  of  the 
rotunda,  which  had  not  suffered  materially  in  the  con- 
flagration. A  substantial  Front  from  a  design  by  Hav- 
iland  was  built,  and  the  gallery  over  the  shops  was 
demolished,  that  the  new  edifice  might  be  better  seen 
from  the  street. 

The  completion  of  the  new  additions  around  the 
Academy  rotunda  made  such  a  great  improvement 
that  the  institution  was  now  better  housed  than  it 
had  ever  been  before,  or  had  hoped  to  be.  The  funds 
necessary  for  so  large  an  expenditure  were  raised  in 
part  by  subscription  and  partly  from  the  proceeds  of 
a  successfully  conducted  fair,  organized  and  managed 
throughout  by  a  committee  of  ladies.  It  was  held  in 
a  large  room  at  the  corner  of  Ninth  and  Sansom 
Streets  known  as  the  Chinese  Museum,  which  was 
under  the  great  gallery  of  the  Peale  Museum.  The 
ground  is  now  occupied  by  the  Continental  Hotel. 
From  this  time  on  the  artists,  having  no  place  of  their 
own  in  which  to  continue  their  exhibitions,  sent  their 
works  to  the  annual  displays  of  the  Academy.  But  the 
organization  of  the  Artists'  Fund  Society  has  survived 
to  the  present  day,  with  its  beneficiary  features  now 
alone  preserved.  The  artists  were  represented  in  the 
Academy  direction,  however,  by  P.  F.  Rothermel,  J. 
R.  Lambdin  and  myself. 

During  many  years  I  was  secretary  of  the  board  of 
directors  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine 

[  182] 


Miss  REBECCA  GRATZ 
From  a  Drawing  hy  John  Sarfam 
after  the  Painting  hy  Thomas  Sully 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


AMERICA 

Arts.  One  of  my  colleagues  was  Mr.  Hyman  Gratz, 
with  whom  I  was  necessarily  much  thrown  in  the 
transaction  of  business,  he  being  treasurer  and  I  chair- 
man of  the  three  most  important  committees.  Towards 
the  close  of  his  life  he  became  very  feeble,  and  he 
would  often  ask  me  to  come  to  confer  with  him  at  his 
residence,  No.  2  Boston  Row,  Chestnut  Street  above 
Twelfth,  to  save  him  the  effort  of  going  to  the  Acad- 
emy. There  I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  meeting  his 
sister,  Miss  Rebecca  Gratz,  who  was  the  managing 
head  of  his  household.  She,  as  is  well  known,  was  the 
prototype  of  the  Rebecca  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Ivanhoe. 
With  the  same  vividness  with  which  I  recall  William 
Blake's  widow  as  she  opened  to  me  the  street  door 
when  I  visited  my  friend,  Tatham,  the  sculptor,  in 
London,  I  have  retained  the  startling  impression  made 
upon  me  by  this  celebrated  Jewish  lad,y  when  she  per- 
formed for  me  the  same  service  in  Philadelphia.  I  rec- 
ognized her  instantly  as  the  original  of  the  portrait 
painted  by  Sully  many  years  before.  Her  eyes  struck 
me  as  piercingly  dark,  yet  of  mild  expression,  in  a  face 
tenderly  pale. 

The  personal  beauty,  the  noble  qualities  of  character, 
and  some  incidents  of  her  history  were  described  to 
Scott  one  day  by  her  intimate  friend,  Washington 
Irving.  Two  years  later,  in  1819,  the  great  novelist 
sent  to  Irving  a  first  copy  of  the  story  into  which  he 
had  introduced  her  as  heroine,  and  wrote  to  him, 

[  183] 


REMINISCENCES 

"How  do  you  like  your  Rebecca?  Does  the  Rebecca 
I  have  pictured  compare  well  with  the  pattern  given  ?" 
The  portrait  Sully  painted  of  her  must  have  been  a 
remarkable  likeness,  that  so  many  years  after  I  should 
recognize  her  instantly  by  my  remembrance  of  it.  The 
artist  was  introduced  to  her  by  Washington  Irving  by 
means  of  the  following  letter:  — 

I  HARDLY  need  introduce  the  bearer,  Mr.  Sully, 
to  you,  as  I  trust  you  recoiled  him  perfectly.  He 
purposes  passing  the  winter  in  your  city,  and  as  he 
will  be  "a  mere  stranger  and  sojourner  in  the  land/' 
I  would  solicit  for  him  your  good  graces.  He  is  a 
gentleman  for  whom  I  have  a  great  regard,  not  merely 
on  account  of  his  professional  abilities,  which  are 
highly  promising,  but  for  his  amiable  character  and 
engaging  manners.  I  think  I  cannot  render  him  a 
favour  for  which  he  ought  to  be  more  grateful  than  in 
introducing  him  to  the  notice  of  yourself  and  your 
connections. 

Mr.  Hoffman's  family  are  all  well,  and  you  are  often 
the  subject  of  their  conversation.  Remember  me  affec- 
tionately to  all  the  family.  Excuse  the  liberty  I  have 
taken,  and  believe  me  with  the  warmest  friendship, 

Ever  yours, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 
New  Tork,  Nov.tfh,  1807. 

Miss  Rebecca  Gratz  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the 


AMERICA 

Hoffmans  and  other  old  families  of  New  York. 
Matilda  Hoffman,  Irving's  first,  last,  and  only  love, 
was  her  dearest  friend.  When  she  faded  away  in  1809 
at  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  she  died  in  the  tender 
arms  of  Rebecca.  Irving  was  then  twenty-six  years 
old,  and  for  half  a  century  he  cherished  her  memory 
faithfully.  In  his  private  note-book  he  wrote,  "She 
died  in  the  beauty  of  her  youth,  and  in  my  memory 
she  will  ever  be  young  and  beautiful."  It  was  in  the 
fall  of  1817,  eight  years  later,  that  Irving  met  Scott 
for  the  first  time,  through  an  introductory  letter  from 
the  poet  Campbell,  who  knew  Scott's  high  estimate 
of  Irving's  genius. 

I  myself  met  Irving  in  1858,  when  I  spent  a  most 
delightful  afternoon  with  him  in  his  library  at  Sunny- 
side  on  the  Hudson.  I  went  with  Mr.  W.  H.  Bidwell 
of  New  York,  proprietor  and  editor  of  'The  Ecleffic 
Magazine.  He  wanted  Irving  to  sit  for  a  portrait  to  be 
engraved  for  his  periodical,  but  Irving  said  that  he 
had  so  often  declined  to  pose  that  he  feared  he  would 
give  too  much  offence  by  consenting  now.  However, 
he  seemed  to  divine  my  purpose  of  attempting  a  por- 
trait from  memory.  I  observed  him  closely  as  I  sat  in 
a  favourable  point  of  view,  studying  his  habitual  posi- 
tion and  characteristic  expressions,  and  as  we  left  he 
gave  me  a  note  to  a  relative  in  Lafayette  Place,  New 
York,  requesting  him  to  lend  me  a  small  portrait  of 
him  painted  in  his  youth.  It  was  of  no  use,  however, 

[  185] 


REMINISCENCES 

years  had  wrought  too  great  a  change.  I  made  a  draw- 
ing entirely  from  memory  which  was  pronounced  so 
good  a  likeness  that  it  was  ordered  to  be  engraved, 
and  was  published  in  The  Ecleffic  in  the  number  for 
Odober,  1858. 

To  return  to  Ivanhois  Rebecca:  I  have  learned  much 
that  is  exceedingly  interesting  about  Rebecca  Gratz 
from  her  grand-nieces,  the  Misses  Mordecai,  who 
have  honoured  me  with  their  friendship.  "She  was 
born  on  the  fourth  of  March,  1789,  and  was  the 
daughter  of  Michael  Gratz,  a  native  of  Langendorf, 
Upper  Silesia,  who  emigrated  to  America  in  1758  and 
settled  in  Philadelphia.  He  came  well  provided  with 
this  world's  goods,  which  he  greatly  increased  by  trad- 
ing with  the  Indians.  In  1769  he  married  Miriam 
Symon  of  Lancaster,  then  a  remote  settlement  in  the 
far  wilds  of  Pennsylvania,  and  eleven  children  were 
born  to  them.  During  the  closing  years  of  the  last 
century  and  the  early  part  of  this,  Rebecca  and  her 
two  beautiful  sisters  were  the  toast  of  the  clubs  of  the 
day  as  the  three  Graces,  a  slight  twist  of  their  name 
the  three  Gratzes.  They  were  as  good  as  they  were 
beautiful.  There  had  been  a  story  in  our  Aunt  Re- 
becca's life,  a  struggle  between  love  and  religion,  in 
which  duty  conquered  as  it  always  did  with  her. 
Walter  Scott  could  not  have  chosen  a  nobler  type  of 
Jewish  maiden." 
Another  relative  writes:  "Her  eyes  were  of  exquisite 

[  186] 


AMERICA 

shape,  large,  black,  and  lustrous;  her  form  was  grace- 
ful and  her  carriage  was  marked  by  great  dignity, 
attractions  which  were  heightened  by  elegant  and  win- 
ning manners.  Gentle,  benevolent,  and  with  instinctive 
refinement  and  innate  purity,  she  inspired  affection  in 
all  who  knew  her.  She  received  the  best  instruction 
those  early  days  afforded,  and  was  well  fitted  for  prac- 
tical and  social  duties." 

Miss  Mordecai  relates  an  anecdote  she  used  to  hear 
her  grand-aunt  tell  of  her  primitive  school-days.  "I 
have  forgotten  the  name  of  her  schoolmistress,  but 
it  was  a  large  school  with  rows  of  pupils  sitting  on 
benches  the  whole  length  of  the  room.  She  told  us 
that  each  day  as  the  clock  struck  twelve  a  short  recess 
would  be  proclaimed,  the  door  would  open  and  a  gen- 
tleman would  appear.  It  was  the  brother  of  the  school- 
mistress, dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion  of  the 
day,  cocked  hat,  powdered  hair,  queue,  blue  coat  with 
metal  buttons,  knee  breeches  and  shoe  buckles,  white 
stockings  and  ruffled  shirt.  He  would  walk  up  between 
the  rows  of  girls  to  the  platform  where  his  sister  stood, 
take  off  his  hat,  bow  over  her  hand  and  say  'Good- 
morning/  He  would  then  with  great  deliberation  take 
out  his  snuff-box,  open  it,  invite  her  to  take  a  pinch, 
close  it,  and  walk  back  again  between  the  girls  to  the 
door,  pass  through  and  vanish.  This  happened  every 
day  regularly.  She  would  add,  ( I  think  I  can  see  the 
old  gentleman  now.'  cAnd  did  he  never  say  anything 

[  187] 


REMINISCENCES 

more?'  cNo,  never;  he  disappeared  just  as  he  came, 
and  never  spoke  to  any  one  but  his  sister."1 
During  the  yellow  fever  epidemic  in  Philadelphia  at 
the  beginning  of  this  century,  the  Gratz  family  took 
refuge  in  the  country  house  of  the  Binghams  on  the 
Lansdowne  plateau,  in  what  is  now  West  Fairmount 
Park.  Rebecca  Gratz  writes  to  a  New  York  friend 
under  date  of  August  8,  1802:  "We  came  to  Lans- 
downe on  Wednesday  afternoon,  and  the  situation 
and  the  house  surpass  the  great  expectations  I  had 
been  taught  to  form  of  it.  We  are  delightfully  situ- 
ated. .  .  .  The  reports  are  so  various  concerning  the 
fever,  that  I  must  refer  you  to  the  papers  for  true 
accounts.  Great  numbers  of  the  citizens  have  removed, 
and  I  hope  the  fatal  disorder  will  soon  be  checked." 
Interest  will  be  felt  in  this  facsimile  of  her  autograph 
from  a  letter  addressed  to  Mrs.  Ogden  Hoffman,  No. 
39  Wall  Street,  New  York,  step-mother  of  Irving's 
fiancee. 


Jwto 


fate/ft 


***** 


Near  neighbours  to  the  Gratzes  on  Chestnut  Street, 
in  a  retired  house  deeply  shaded  with  large  trees  at 

[  '88] 


AMERICA 

the  south-west  corner  of  Tenth,  lived  Mr.  William 
Meredith  and  his  charming  wife,  who  was  niece  of 
Gouverneur  Morris  of  Revolutionary  fame.  William 
Morris  Meredith,  their  son,  was  afterwards  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury  in  General  Taylor's  Cabinet,  and  I 
place  great  value  upon  two  volumes  in  my  library, 
as  memorials  of  the  friendship  of  that  eminent  and 
accomplished  gentleman.  The  Meredith  mansion  was 
the  centre  of  all  the  culture  of  the  day,  and  distin- 
guished visitors  to  the  city  sought  admission  to  its 
literary  gatherings.  We  have  record  of  a  ceremonious 
call  of  a  Southerner,  who  had  been  invited  by  Mrs. 
Meredith  for  a  special  evening,  in  response  to  his  de- 
sire to  be  present  at  one  of  these  intellectual  symposia. 
The  hostess  had  forgotten  the  engagement  and  was 
alone.  With  quick  expedient  she  exclaimed,  "Oh,  I 
forgot  all  about  it;  but  remain  and  I  will  send  for 
Miss  Rebecca  Gratz,  and  you  will  forgive  me."  Miss 
Gratz  was  luckily  disengaged,  and  the  untimely  guest 
declared  it  was  the  most  enjoyable  evening  he  had 
ever  spent. 

Miss  Gratz's  noble  and  lovable  character  gave  her 
great  personal  influence,  and  one  of  the  happy  mem- 
ories she  treasured  was  that  she  had  been  the  means  of 
effecting  a  death-bed  reconciliation  between  an  obdurate 
father  and  his  daughter,  Rebecca's  grandfather  and  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Nicholas  Schuyler  of  Albany.  Estrangement 
had  ensued  after  her  marriage  with  a  Christian. 

[  189] 


REMINISCENCES 

"She  whom  all  honoured  in  life  was  full  of  years.  She 
lived  to  the  blessed  age  of  eighty-eight,  and  as  we  are 
taught  that  length  of  days  is  an  heritage  from  the 
Lord,  we  believe  He  blessed  his  handmaiden,  and 
gave  her  many  years  to  be  as  a  beacon  and  light  to 
her  generation.  As  Abraham  was  a  prince  among  his 
people,  so  was  Rebecca  Gratz  a  princess  among  her 
own  people,  who  looked  up  to  her  with  pride  in  her 
position  among  them  and  among  the  strangers  with 
whom  she  sojourned." 

Hyman  Gratz,  by  the  way,  owned  property  on  Mar- 
ket Street  at  the  south-west  corner  of  Seventh,  where 
Jefferson  wrote  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  The 
two  corner  houses  were  demolished  to  give  place  to 
the  new  Penn  Bank  building,  on  the  fagade  of  which 
is  attached  a  bronze  tablet  commemorative  of  the  in- 
teresting spot  on  which  the  present  building  stands. 
The  arm-chair  in  which  Jefferson  sat  while  writing  the 
Declaration  is  preserved  in  the  collection  of  the  Amer- 
ican Philosophical  Society. 

I  have  been  drawn  into  a  long  digression  from  my 
subject  of  the  artists  whom  I  knew  in  Philadelphia  in 
the  second  quarter  of  the  century;  but  to  conclude: 
During  the  heat  of  the  summer  of  1842,  there  came 
to  Philadelphia  a  Monsieur  Vatimaire,  who  brought 
with  him  a  small  collection  of  very  excellent  drawings 
in  water  colours  by  the  best  artists  of  the  British  school, 
such  as  DeWint,  Richardson,  and  others  equally  emi- 


AMERICA 

nent  at  that  time.  Among  them  was  one  by  Sir  Edwin 
Landseer,  of  the  head  of  a  stag,  which  Vatimaire 
claimed  to  be  an  original  drawn  from  nature  after 
death.  Landseer  used  this  study  over  and  over  again 
in  successive  pictures,  as  we  see  in  his  Bolton  Ahhey, 
'The  Stag  at  Bay^  and  others.  We  observe  the  same  re- 
peated use  of  one  study  from  nature  by  Sir  David 
Wilkie.  The  dog  scratching  his  ear  reappears  in  sev- 
eral of  his  pictures. 

Vatimaire  had  obtained  these  drawings  from  the  artists, 
not  by  purchase,  but  on  a  plea  the  nature  of  which 
has  escaped  my  memory,  and  he  endeavoured  to  obtain 
contributions  here  by  the  same  method,  but  without 
much  success.  F.  O.  C.  Darley  was  one  of  the  few 
who  gave  him  one. 

Vatimaire  had  been  famous  in  England  and  France  as 
a  most  accomplished  ventriloquist  and  mimic.  His 
performances  given  under  the  name  of  Alexandre  were 
similar  in  character  to  those  of  Charles  Matthews,  whom 
he  is  reputed  to  have  equalled  or  perhaps  even  sur- 
passed. His  celerity  in  change  of  character,  rapidity  in 
altering  costume,  voice  and  face,  were  said  to  be  won- 
derful. At  one  time  he  would  be  the  handsome,  modest 
Sister  Celestine,  and  the  next  moment,  as  by  magic,  a 
fat,  gouty  old  alderman. 

He  became  quite  prominent  in  Philadelphia,  so  that 
the  academy  directors  tendered  him  a  sort  of  reception 
in  their  rotunda,  to  which  only  a  very  few  were  in- 


REMINISCENCES 

vited, — Sully,  Fenimore  Cooper,  Hyman  Gratz,  and 
others  whose  names  I  cannot  now  recall,  a  party  of 
perhaps  a  dozen  in  all.  After  awhile  we  adjourned,  on 
the  invitation  of  the  guest,  to  his  apartment  on  South 
Sixth  Street,  opposite  Washington  Square.  Here  he 
entertained  us  by  showing  us  curiosities  of  one  kind 
or  another,  including  various  decorations  that  had 
been  bestowed  upon  him.  Fenimore  Cooper  made 
some  remark  which  he  answered  in  so  rude  and  scorn- 
ful a  manner  that  I  was  surprised  at  such  unseemly 
behaviour.  Cooper  was  roughly  clad,  and  I  suppose  he 
mistook  him  for  some  tiller  of  the  soil. 
The  last  I  knew  of  Vatimaire,  he  was  busying  himself 
in  attempting  to  establish  a  system  for  the  interna- 
tional exchange  of  books  and  so  forth,  which  are  many 
times  duplicated  in  some  libraries  and  museums,  and 
are  yet  totally  wanting  in  others.  How  he  may  have 
succeeded  in  accomplishing  this  desirable  purpose  I 
never  knew. 

With  my  friend  and  for  many  years  near  neighbour, 
John  Neagle,  I  was  of  course  on  intimate  terms.  The 
two  most  important  pictures  he  ever  painted  were  the 
whole-length  of  Pat  Lyon,  the  blacksmith,  and  that 
of  Henry  Clay.  The  latter  was  painted  at  Ashland, 
the  old  homestead  in  Kentucky.  Mr.  Neagle  told  me 
a  history  of  his  painting  of  the  former,  which  I  think 
worthy  of  being  recorded.  Pat  Lyon,  having  been 
awarded  a  handsome  sum  of  money  from  a  bank  as 

[  192] 


PAT  LYON 

From  the  Painting  hy  John  Neagle  in  the  Possession  of 
the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


AMERICA 

damages  for  what  was  proved  to  be  a  false  accusation 
and  imprisonment,  decided  on  having  a  whole-length 
portrait  of  himself  painted,  with  a  view  in  the  back- 
ground of  the  Walnut  Street  prison  in  which  he  had 
been  confined.  John  Neagle  received  the  commission 
for  the  work. 

So  much  time  elapsed  before  a  sitting  could  be  ar- 
ranged that  the  artist  suspected  that  Lyon  was  pur- 
posely evading  it.  He  told  Lyon  what  he  thought, 
and  asked  that  if  he  doubted  his  ability  to  produce  a 
creditable  picture,  he  would  say  so  frankly.  "Well 
then,"  said  Lyon,  "frankly,  that  is  it.  You  know,  Mr. 
Neagle,  you  are  still  a  very  young  man,  and  it  has 
been  shown  me  that  it  takes  a  long  experience  to  pro- 
duce such  a  picture  as  is  proposed,  and  you  might  not 
succeed."  Neagle  contrived  to  learn  from  him  at 
length  that  it  was  Bass  Otis,  whose  pupil  he  had 
been,  who  had  suggested  the  doubt. 
Neagle  was  stung  to  exasperation  at  this  check,  and 
appealed  earnestly  to  Lyon  to  trust  him  and  not  to 
withdraw  from  him  this  opportunity  for  distinguishing 
himself.  Lyon  was  impressed  favourably  with  the  con- 
fidence and  enthusiasm  of  the  artist,  and  told  him  to 
go  on.  The  result  was  a  success  beyond  what  might 
have  been  expected.  Neagle  told  me  that  his  anxiety 
made  him  imitate  closely  all  the  objects  in  the  smithy 
that  appear  in  the  picture,  even  measuring  them,  as 
well  as  carefully  drawing  them.  When  the  work  was 

'3  [     193    ] 


REMINISCENCES 

finished  it  was  sent  to  Boston  as  a  contribution  to 
the  annual  exhibition  of  the  Athenaeum,  and  it  was  so 
much  liked  that  it  was  purchased  for  their  permanent 
collection,  with  Mr.  Lyon's  consent.  Neagle  painted 
for  him  the  duplicate  now  seen  in  the  gallery  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  but  it  is  not 
equal  to  the  Boston  picture  in  firmness,  decision,  and 
sharp  squareness  of  touch. 

In  1825  Neagle  painted  in  Boston  a  portrait  of  Gil- 
bert Stuart,  who  was  then  in  his  seventy-second  year. 
An  engraving  from  this  was  made  by  my  friend  David 
Edwin,  who  told  me  of  an  incident  that  illustrates 
Stuart's  method  of  painting.  He  called  at  his  studio 
one  day  on  business,  and  Stuart  said,  "Well  arrived, 
sit  you  there,"  pointing  to  a  chair  near  him.  He  then 
leaned  over  and  pinned  to  Edwin's  coat  a  decoration 
that  he  was  about  to  paint  in  a  picture  that  was  before 
him  on  the  easel;  if  I  remember  aright,  a  portrait  of 
Governor  McKean.  Edwin  was  in  a  position  that  en- 
abled him  to  see  every  touch  that  the  artist  succes- 
sively made.  He  deliberated  every  time  before  the 
well-charged  brush  went  down  upon  the  canvas  with 
an  action  like  cutting  into  it  with  a  knife.  He  lifted 
the  brush  from  the  surface  at  a  right  angle,  carefully 
avoiding  a  sliding  motion.  He  seems  always  to  have 
avoided  vexing  or  tormenting  the  paint  when  once 
laid  on,  and  this  partly  accounts  for  the  purity  and 
freshness  that  still  remains  a  characteristic  of  his  work. 


AMERICA 

One  principle  which  he  invariably  observed  was  to 
keep  the  lips  tender  in  their  tints,  so  as  never  to  con- 
tend with  the  eyes  in  strength,  nor  even  with  the  sha- 
dows from  the  nose,  depending  for  character  on  a  few 
decisive,  expressive,  but  not  dark  touches.  I  once 
heard  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  lay  down  this  as  a  rule, 
although  in  his  own  practice  he  did  not  carry  it  so  far 
as  Stuart  did. 

Edwin's  engraving  after  the  Stuart  portrait  was  not 
completed  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  Neagle,  and  he 
employed  Thomas  Kelly  to  work  upon  the  plate  to 
add  smoothness  and  finish.  Probably  Edwin's  sight 
was  already  too  much  impaired,  but  he  felt  bitterly 
indignant,  and  a  violent  quarrel  took  place  between 
him  and  Neagle.  When  the  failure  of  his  eyes  finally 
barred  him  from  the  practice  of  his  profession,  he 
opened  a  grocery  store  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
new  settlement  in  Christian  Street,  but  it  was  closed 
through  bad  debts.  It  was  then  that  he  took  the  posi- 
tion with  Mr.  Warren,  manager  of  the  Chestnut  Street 
Theatre. 


[  195] 


CHAPTER      XIII 

Graham's  Magazine — Edgar  Allan  Poe — Thomas  Cottrell 
Clarke 

;N  January,  1841,  George  R.  Graham  pub- 
lished the  first  number  of  his  monthly  called 
Graham's  Magazine.  It  was  based  on  the  sub- 
scription lists  of  three  other  periodicals,  namely,  'The 
Casket,  published  by  Atkinson,  another  published  in 
New  York  with  Dr.  Robert  M.  Bird  of  Philadelphia 
as  editor,  the  title  of  which  was,  I  think,  The  Atlantic 
Magazine,  and  third  and  most  important,  The  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,  published  by  William  E.  Burton,  the 
actor.  The  united  lists  of  all  three  amounted  to  only 
five  thousand,  five  hundred. 

The  reason  Burton  parted  with  The  Gentleman's  Mag- 
azine to  Graham  was  that  he  was  about  to  engage  in 
a  new  enterprise,  which  would  tax  all  his  energies  to 
the  utmost.  It  was  no  less  a  project  than  the  establish- 
ment of  a  new  theatre  on  Chestnut  Street,  where  the 
Continental  Hotel  now  stands.  Burton  had  been  for 
a  long  time  a  member  of  the  stock  company  of  the 
old  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  next  to  the  corner  of 
Sixth  Street,  of  which  May  wood  was  lessee  and  man- 
ager. Burton  often  complained  to  me  in  doleful  tones 
of  repeated  studied  annoyances  and  even  humiliating 

[  -96] 


AMERICA 

insults  which  he  was  made  to  suffer.  At  last,  exasper- 
ated beyond  endurance,  he  determined  to  establish  a 
rival  theatre  of  his  own,  and  accomplished  his  purpose 
by  remodelling  Cook's  Olympic  Circus.  I  remember 
this  ground  before  it  was  built  upon,  while  still  a 
vacant  lot  utilized  as  a  marble-yard.  Cook,  the  eques- 
trian from  London,  erecled  his  circus  upon  it,  but  a 
fire  in  Baltimore,  which  destroyed  his  superb  stud  of 
beautifully  trained  horses,  ruined  him.  This  created 
Burton's  opportunity.  With  $ 2 5,000  advanced  by  the 
owner  of  the  ground,  he  turned  it  into  a  handsome 
theatre,  and  here  Charlotte  Cushman,  Wheatley,  and 
Richings  made  their  first  appearances  before  a  Phila- 
delphia audience,  quitting  for  the  purpose  the  Park 
Theatre,  New  York,  where  I  had  often  seen  them  as 
members  of  the  stock  company. 

Up  to  the  time  of  Graham's  new  publication  it  had 
been  an  unusual  thing  for  the  monthlies  to  have  new 
plates  engraved  expressly  for  them;  they  were  content, 
when  they  had  pictorial  embellishments  at  all,  to  use 
old  worn-out  plates  picked  up  at  a  trifling  cost.  For 
Dr.  Bird,  however,  I  had  engraved  a  view  of  the  en- 
trance to  the  Mammoth  Cave,  from  a  drawing  by 
himself,  and  for  Burton  three  plates,  The  April  Fool, 
'The  Musical  Bore,  and  The  Pets,  the  latter  after  Edwin 
Landseer. 

Graham  decided  to  have  a  new  plate  engraved  ex- 
pressly for  every  number,  and  engaged  me  to  execute 

[  197] 


REMINISCENCES 

the  work.  The  boldness  of  the  enterprise  astonished 
me,  yet  I  did  not  give  expression  to  my  surprise,  or 
thought  I  did  not,  but  after  two  or  three  months  of 
extraordinary  success  Graham  told  me  that  he  could 
see  that  I  had  wondered,  and  he  explained  what  led 
him  to  adopt  such  a  measure.  He  said  that  before 
deciding  on  the  details  of  his  plans  he  consulted  all 
he  could  reach  whose  experience  with  periodical  litera- 
ture might  assist  his  judgment.  Principal  among  these 
was  Israel  Post,  of  New  York.  Post's  advice  was,  "Go 
to  John  Sartain  and  get  a  new  plate  for  every  number, 
and  I  guarantee  success.  I  sold  three  thousand  extra 
of  that  number  of  Burton's  that  had  his  plate  of  'The 
Pets  in  it." 

The  success  of  the  magazine  was  immense  and  a  sur- 
prise to  Graham  himself.  Beginning  with  five  thousand 
five  hundred,  as  I  know  because  I  furnished  the  im- 
pressions of  the  plates  I  engraved,  the  edition  by  the 
end  of  the  second  year  had  reached  forty  thousand, 
and  I  had  to  engrave  four  steel  plates  of  each  subjed: 
to  keep  pace  in  the  printing  of  them  with  the  increased 
demand.  But  the  very  excess  of  success  led  to  disaster. 
Graham  was  solicited  on  all  sides  to  join  in  enterprises, 
and  he  embarked  in  some  of  these.  He  bought  Fry's 
National  Gazette  and  also,  in  association  with  Robert  M. 
Bird  and  Morton  McMichael,  paid  forty-five  thousand 
dollars  for  Chandler's  United  States  Gazette,  incorpora- 
ting the  two  journals  into  one,  ^fhe  North  American. 

[  198] 


AMERICA 

The  result  of  all  these  and  other  non-literary  specu- 
lations, such  as  copper-mining,  etc.,  was  failure,  for 
liberty  is  not  the  only  thing  that  demands  incessant 
vigilance.  Graham's  attention  thus  divided  left  the 
magazine  to  run  itself,  if  it  could,  without  commander 
or  helmsman.  Finally  in  1848,  all  had  to  be  sold  to 
satisfy  creditors, — magazine,  newspaper,  shares  and 
everything.  It  was  not  until  after  Graham  himself  had 
disappeared  from  the  field  that  Sartain's  Magazine  be- 
gan, and  it  never  would  have  begun  but  for  Graham's 
misfortune.  After  a  time,  however,  he  resumed  his  for- 
mer position  with  the  magazine,  but  could  not  revive 
its  prosperity. 

It  was  in  connection  with  Graham's  enterprise  that  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe.  Burton's 
time  had  been  so  much  occupied  by  his  duties  at  the 
theatre  that  he  associated  Poe  with  himself  as  assist- 
ant editor,  and  when  the  transfer  was  made  to  Gra- 
ham, the  editor  naturally  went  over  with  it.  Besides 
the  ordinary  duties  incident  to  the  position,  Poe  con- 
tributed articles  to  its  pages.  Of  the  stories,  °The  Mur- 
ders in  the  Rue  Morgue^  named  in  his  original  manu- 
script The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Trianon-Bas,  appeared  in 
the  April  number  of  the  first  year.  In  May  of  the 
second  year  came  the  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom.  Then, 
after  one  or  two  poetical  trifles,  the  numbers  for  No- 
vember and  December  contained  his  chapters  on  Au- 
tography,  in  which  he  presented  fac-similes  of  no  less 

[    199  1 


REMINISCENCES 

than  one  hundred  and  nine  signatures  of  popular  and 
distinguished  authors,  added  to  which  were  nineteen 
others  in  what  he  termed  an  appendix,  that  appeared 
in  the  January  number  of  the  year  following,  1843. 
Poe  continued  with  Graham  in  the  capacity  of  editor 
for  about  eighteen  months,  on  a  salary  of  $800  a  year. 
He  then  had  to  withdraw  on  account  of  a  quarrel  with 
Graham's  old  friend  and  associate,  Charles  J.  Peterson, 
from  whom  Graham  could  not  part,  but  Poe  contin- 
ued to  write  for  him  occasionally  as  before. 
The  article  that  interested  me  most  of  all  among  his 
contributions  to  Graham's  was  that  entitled  "The  Phi- 
losophy of  Composition,"  published  in  the  number 
for  April,  1846.  In  it  he  says,  "Most  writers — poets 
in  especial — prefer  having  it  understood  that  they 
compose  by  a  species  of  fine  frenzy — an  ecstatic  in- 
tuition— and  would  positively  shudder  at  letting  the 
public  take  a  peep  behind  the  scenes  at  the  elaborate 
and  vacillating  crudities  of  thought — at  the  true  pur- 
poses seized  only  at  the  last  moment — at  the  innu- 
merable glimpses  of  ideas  that  arrived  not  at  the  ma- 
turity of  full  view — at  the  fully  matured  fancies  dis- 
carded in  despair  as  unmanageable — at  the  cautious 
selections  and  rejections — at  the  painful  erasures  and 
interpolations — in  a  word,  at  the  wheels  and  pinions 
— the  tackle  for  scene-shifting — the  step-ladders  and 
demon-traps — the  cock's  feathers,  the  red  paint  and 
black  patches,  which  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hun- 

[    200   ] 


AMERICA 

dred,  constitute  the  properties  of  the  literary  histrio." 
He  then  goes  on  to  describe  even  to  the  utmost  detail 
the  methods  by  which  he  proceeded  to  "build  the 
lofty  rhyme"  of  his  poem  entitled  'The  Raven. 
I  have  always  taken  a  deep  interest  in  tracing  the 
gradual  progressive  development  of  noteworthy  pic- 
tures by  eminent  artists  from  the  first  crude  general 
plan  of  the  composition  to  the  completed  work  and 
the  intervening  studies  from  nature  for  the  several 
parts.  These  latter,  however,  were  almost  always  vastly 
superior  to  the  finished  pictures  painted  from  them. 
Witness,  for  example,  Andrea  del  Sarto's  drawing  from 
nature  of  Joseph,  for  his  famous  fresco  known  as  the 
Madonna  del  Sacco,  in  the  cloister  of  the  Annunciata  at 
Florence.  How  poor  and  tame  is  this  figure  in  com- 
parison with  the  preparatory  study !  The  same  is 
equally  true  of  Michael  Angelo's  studies  for  the  vault 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel.  His  figure  of  Adam  as  drawn 
from  nature  in  red  chalk  is  superb,  but  lost  in  its  copy 
on  the  ceiling.  Then  again,  Raffaelle's  exquisite  draw- 
ing from  nature  for  the  group  of  women  in  the  fore- 
ground of  the  Heliodorus  in  the  Vatican,  how  much  of 
the  charm  is  gone  in  its  transfer  to  the  fresco!  It  is  also 
true  of  his  studies  from  life  for  his  School  of  Athens, 
in  which  his  uncle  Bramante,  the  Pope's  architect,  fig- 
ures frequently.  The  great  gain  is  between  the  first 
jotting  down  of  the  composition  as  a  whole,  which  is 
generally  poor,  and  the  matured  work,  which  is  noble. 

[  201  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

I  have  an  instance  of  remarkable  improvement  in  pro- 
gressive development  and  .elaboration  of  the  original 
thought  in  Edgar  Allan  Poe's  poem  of  The  Bells,  which 
he  wrote  for  me  in  1849.  In  its  original  form  it  was 
the  merest  trifle  compared  with  what  he  made  of  it 
afterwards.  It  was  in  all  eighteen  lines  divided  into 
two  stanzas,  of  which  this  is  the  first  stanza: 

THE  BELLS — A  SONG. 

The  Mis! — hear  the  hells! 

The  merry  wedding  hells  ! 
The  little  silver  hells  ! 
How  fairy-like  a  melody  there  swells 
From  the  silver  tinkling  cells 
Of  the  hells,  hells,  hells  ! 
Of  the  hells! 

It  is  interesting  to  compare  these  lines  with  what  he 
made  of  this  first  stanza  in  the  form  it  afterwards  as- 
sumed and  as  we  published  it  in  the  November  num- 
ber of  Sar tain's  Magazine  for  1849. 

Hear  the  sledges  with  their  hells — 

Silver  hells  ! 

What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells! 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 
In  the  icy  air  of  night! 
While  the  stars  that  over  sprinkle 
All  the  heavens  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight; 
[    202    ] 


AMERICA 

Keeping  time,  time,  time, 

In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme 
<To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 

From  the  hells,  hells,  hells, 

Bells,  hells,  hells- 
Prom  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  hells. 

Let  us  now  compare  the  first  draft  of  the  last  stanza 
with  the  subsequent  improvement. 


hells—  ah,  the  hells  I 

^he  heavy  iron  hells! 
Hear  the  tolling  of  the  hells  ! 

Hear  the  knells  ! 
How  horrihle  a  monody  there  floats 

From  their  throats  — 
From  their  deep-toned  throats  ! 

How  I  shudder  at  the  notes 
From  the  melancholy  throats 

Of  the  hells,  hells,  hells  I 
Of  the  hells! 

These  lines  are  but  eleven  in  number,  yet  in  his  re- 
cast of  this  closing  stanza  there  are  as  many  as  forty- 
four.  In  thus  prolonging  it  he  was  enabled  to  produce 
an  impression  on  the  mind  of  that  monotonous  repe- 
tition of  a  peal  of  heavy  bells,  an  echo,  as  it  were,  of 
the  reality  he  describes.  The  following  form  is  that  in 
which  he  finally  let  it  remain: 

[  2°3  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  hells — 

Iron  hells  !  -. 

IV hat  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody  compels  ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone  ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 

And  the  people — ah,  the  people — 
'They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple 

All  alone, 
And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone— 
'They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neither  hrute  nor  human — 

They  are  Ghouls ;— 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls; — 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

Rolls 
A  p&anfrom  the  hells! 

And  his  merry  hosom  swells 
With  the  p&an  of  the  hells! 
And  he  dances  and  he  yells; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

[  204  ] 


AMERICA 

70  the  paan  of  the  hells , 

Of  the  hells ;- 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme— 

T0  the  throbbing  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells - 

T0  the  throbbing  of  the  hells  ; — 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 

As  he  knells,  knells ,  knells, 
In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme 

T0  the  tolling  of  the  hells — 
Of  the  hells,  hells,  hells,- 
T0  the  tolling  of  the  hells — 
Of  the  hells,  hells,  hells,  hells, 

Bells,  hells,  hells- 
To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  hells. 

About  six  months  after  we  received  this  poem  in  its 
primitive  form  Poe  sent  it  greatly  enlarged  and  al- 
tered, but  not  yet  in  the  final  state  in  which  we  pub- 
lished it;  the  latest  improvement  came  a  month  or  so 
later.  It  appears  that  the  very  last  poem  he  ever  wrote 
was  the  one  entitled  Annabel  Lee.  We  purchased  it 
from  him,  but  before  we  were  ready  to  issue  it  we 
found  that  he  had  also  sold  it  to  three  other  publishers. 
The  last  time  I  saw  Mr.  Poe  was  late  in  that  same 
year,  1849,  and  then  under  such  peculiar  and  almost 
fearful  conditions  that  the  experience  can  never  fade 

[  205] 


REMINISCENCES 

from  my  memory.  Early  one  Monday  afternoon  he 
suddenly  entered  my  engraving  room,  looking  pale 
and  haggard,  with  a  wild  and  frightened  expression 
in  his  eyes.  I  did  not  let  him  see  that  I  noticed  it, 
and  shaking  him  cordially  by  the  hand  invited  him  to 
be  seated,  when  he  began,  "Mr.  Sartain,  I  have  come 
to  you  for  a  refuge  and  protection;  will  you  let  me 
stay  with  you  ?  It  is  necessary  to  my  safety  that  I  lie 
concealed  for  a  time."  I  assured  him  that  he  was  wel- 
come, that  in  my  house  he  would  be  perfectly  safe, 
and  he  could  stay  as  long  as  he  liked,  but  I  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter.  He  said  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  believe  what  he  had  to  tell,  or  that 
such  things  were  possible  in  this  nineteenth  century. 
I  made  him  as  comfortable  as  I  could,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded with  my  work,  which  was  pressing.  After  he 
had  had  time  to  calm  down  a  little,  he  told  me  that  he 
had  been  on  his  way  to  New  York,  but  he  had  over- 
heard some  men  who  sat  a  few  seats  back  of  him  plot- 
ting how  they  should  kill  him  and  then  throw  him  off 
from  the  platform  of  the  car.  He  said  they  spoke  so 
low  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to 
hear  and  understand  the  meaning  of  their  words,  had 
it  not  been  that  his  sense  of  hearing  was  so  wonder- 
fully acute.  They  could  not  guess  that  he  heard  them, 
as  he  sat  so  quiet  and  apparently  indifferent  to  what 
was  going  on,  but  when  the  train  arrived  at  the  Bor- 
dentown  station  he  gave  them  the  slip  and  remained 

'    206 


AMERICA 

concealed  until  the  cars  moved  on  again.  He  had  re- 
turned to  Philadelphia  by  the  first  train  back,  and 
hurried  to  me  for  refuge. 

I  told  him  that  it  was  my  belief  the  whole  scare  was 
the  creation  of  his  own  fancy,  for  what  interest  could 
those  people  have  in  taking  his  life,  and  at  such  risk 
to  themselves?  He  said,  "It  was  for  revenge."  "Re- 
venge for  what?"  said  I.  He  answered,  "Well,  a 
woman  trouble." 

Now  and  then  some  fragmentary  conversation  passed 
between  us  as  I  engraved,  and  shortly  I  began  to  per- 
ceive a  singular  change  in  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 
From  such  fear  of  assassination  his  mind  gradually 
veered  round  to  an  idea  of  self-destruction,  and  his 
words  clearly  indicated  this  tendency.  After  a  long 
silence  he  said  suddenly,  "If  this  mustache  of  mine 
were  removed  I  should  not  be  so  readily  recognized; 
will  you  lend  me  a  razor,  that  I  may  shave  it  off?  " 
I  told  him  that  as  I  never  shaved  I  had  no  razor,  but 
if  he  wanted  it  removed  I  could  readily  do  it  for  him 
with  scissors.  Accordingly  I  took  him  to  the  bath- 
room and  performed  the  operation  successfully. 
After  tea,  it  being  now  dark,  I  saw  him  preparing  to 
go  out;  and  on  my  asking  him  where  he  was  going, 
he  said,  "To  the  Schuylkill."  I  told  him  I  would  go 
too,  it  would  be  pleasant  in  the  moonlight  later,  and 
he  offered  no  objection.  He  complained  that  his  feet 
hurt  him,  being  chafed  by  his  shoes,  which  were  worn 

[207] 


REMINISCENCES 

down  on  the  outer  side  of  the  heel.  So  for  ease  and 
comfort  he  wore  my  slippers,  which  he  preferred  to 
my  shoes  as  less  ill-fitting.  When  we  had  reached  the 
corner  of  Ninth  and  Chestnut  Streets  we  waited  for 
an  omnibus  some  minutes,  which  were  passed  in  con- 
versation, and  among  the  many  things  he  said  was  that 
he  wished  I  would  see  to  it  after  his  death  that  the 
portrait  Osgood  had  painted  of  him  should  go  to  his 
mother  (meaning  Mrs.  Clemm).  I  promised  that  as 
far  as  I  could  control  it  that  should  be  done.  After 
getting  the  omnibus  we  rode  to  its  stopping-place,  a 
little  short  of  Fairmount,  opposite  a  tavern  on  the 
north  side  of  Callowhill  Street,  at  the  bend  it  makes  to 
the  northwest  to  reach  the  bridge  over  the  river.  At 
that  spot  a  bright  light  shone  out  through  the  open 
door  of  the  tavern,  but  beyond  all  was  pitchy  dark. 
However,  forward  into  the  darkness  we  walked.  I  kept 
on  his  left  side,  and  on  approaching  the  foot  of  the 
bridge  guided  him  off  to  the  right  by  a  gentle  pressure, 
until  we  reached  the  lofty  flight  of  steep  wooden  steps 
which  ascended  almost  to  the  top  of  the  reservoir. 
There  was  a  landing  with  seats,  and  we  sat  down  to 
rest.  All  this  time  I  had  contrived  to  hold  him  in  con- 
versation, except  while  we  were  labouring  breathless 
up  that  long,  breakneck  flight  of  stairs. 
There  he  told  me  his  late  experiences,  or  what  he  be- 
lieved to  be  such,  and  the  succession  of  images  that 
his  imagination  created  he  expressed  in  a  calm,  delib- 

[208] 


AMERICA 

erate,  measured  utterance  as  facls.  These  were  as  weird 
and  fantastic  as  anything  to  be  met  with  in  his  pub- 
lished writings.  Of  course  it  is  altogether  beyond  me 
to  convey  even  a  faint  idea  of  his  wild  descriptions. 
"I  was  confined  in  a  cell  in  Moyamensing  Prison," 
said  he,  "and  through  my  grated  window  was  visible 
the  battlemented  granite  tower.  On  the  topmost  stone 
of  the  parapet,  between  the  embrasures,  stood  perched 
against  the  dark  sky  a  young  female  brightly  radiant, 
like  silver  dipped  in  light,  either  in  herself  or  in  her 
environment,  so  that  the  cross-bar  shadows  thrown 
from  my  window  were  distinct  on  the  opposite  wall. 
From  this  position,  remote  as  it  was,  she  addressed  to 
me  a  series  of  questions  in  words  not  loud  but  dis- 
tinct, and  I  dared  not  fail  to  hear  and  make  apt  re- 
sponse. Had  I  failed  once  either  to  hear  or  to  make 
pertinent  answer,  the  consequences  to  me  would  have 
been  something  fearful;  but  my  sense  of  hearing  is 
wonderfully  acute,  so  that  I  passed  safely  through  this 
ordeal,  which  was  a  snare  to  catch  me.  But  another 
was  in  store. 

"An  attendant  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  take  a 
stroll  about  the  place,  I  might  see  something  interest- 
ing, and  I  agreed.  In  the  course  of  our  rounds  on  the 
ramparts  we  came  to  a  cauldron  of  boiling  spirits.  He 
asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  to  take  a  drink.  I  de- 
clined, but  had  I  said  yes,  what  do  you  suppose  would 
have  happened?"  I  said  I  could  not  guess.  "Why,  I 
14  [  209  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

should  have  been  lifted  over  the  brim  and  dipped  into 
the  hot  liquid  up  to  the  lip,  like  Tantalus."  "Yes," 
said  I,  "but  that,  would  have  killed  you."  "Of  course 
it  would,"  said  he,  "that's  what  they  wanted;  but, 
you  see,  again  I  escaped  the  snare.  So  at  last,  as  a 
means  to  torture  me  and  wring  my  heart,  they  brought 
out  my  mother,  Mrs.  Clemm,  to  blast  my  sight  by 
seeing  them  first  saw  off  her  feet  at  the  ankles,  then 
her  legs  to  the  knees,  her  thighs  at  the  hips,  and  so 
on."  The  horror  of  the  imagined  scene  threw  him  into 
a  sort  of  convulsion.  This  is  but  a  very  faint  sample 
of  the  talk  I  listened  to  up  there  in  the  darkness.  I 
had  been  all  along  expecting  the  moon  to  rise,  forget- 
ting how  much  it  retarded  every  evening,  and  the 
clouds  hid  the  light  of  the  stars.  It  came  into  my  mind 
that  Poe  might  possibly  in  a  sudden  fit  of  frenzy  leap 
freely  forth  with  me  in  his  arms  into  the  black  depth 
below,  so  I  was  watchful  and  kept  on  my  guard.  I 
asked  him  how  he  came  to  be  in  Moyamensing  Prison. 
He  answered  that  he  had  been  suspected  of  trying 
to  pass  a  fifty-dollar  counterfeit  note.  The  truth  is,  he 
was  there  for  what  takes  so  many  there  for  a  few  hours 
only — the  drop  too  much.  I  learned  later  that  when 
his  turn  came  in  the  motley  group  before  Mayor  Gil- 
pin,  some  one  said,  "Why,  this  is  Poe,  the  poet," 
and  he  was  dismissed  without  the  customary  fine. 
When  he  alluded  to  his  mother,  which  was  always 
with  feelings  of  affectionate  devotion,  it  was  not  his 

[    210] 


AMERICA 

own  natural  mother,  who  died  when  he  was  in  his  in- 
fancy, but  Mrs.  Clemm,  his  mother-in-law.  To  both 
he  referred  in  the  following  lines: 

Because  I  feel  that  in  the  Heavens  above, 

^fhe  angels,  whispering  to  one  another, 
Can  find,  among  their  burning  terms  of  love, 

None  so  devotional  as  that  of  "mother," 
therefore  by  that  dear  name  I  long  have  called  you — 

Tou  who  are  more  than  mother  unto  me, 
And  fill  my  heart  of  hearts,  where  death  installed  you 

In  setting  my  Virginia's  spirit  free. 
My  mother — my  own  mother,  who  died  early, 

Was  but  the  mother  of  myself  ;  but  you 
Are  mother  to  the  one  I  loved  so  dearly, 

And  thus  are  dearer  than  the  mother  I  knew 
By  that  infinity  with  which  my  wife 
Was  dearer  to  my  soul  than  its  soul-life. 

I  suggested  at  last  that  as  it  appeared  we  were  not  to 
have  the  moon  we  might  as  well  go  down  again.  He 
agreed,  and  we  descended  the  steep  stairway  slowly 
and  cautiously,  holding  well  to  the  hand-rails.  Being 
down  I  kept  this  time,  on  our  return  walk,  on  his  right 
side,  and  did  not  suffer  the  conversation  to  flag.  On 
arriving  at  the  omnibus  waiting  for  passengers  at  the 
tavern  door  I  pressed  gently  against  him  and  he 
raised  his  foot  to  the  step,  but  instantly  recollecting 
himself  drew  back.  I  urged  him  in,  and  being  seated 

[211    ] 


REMINISCENCES 

beside  him  said,  "You  were  saying?"  The  conversa- 
tion was  resumed,  I  got  him  safe  home,  and  gave  him 
a  bed  on  a  sofa  in  the  dining-room,  while  I  slept  along- 
side him  on  three  chairs,  without  undressing. 
On  the  second  morning  he  appeared  to  have  become 
so  much  like  his  old  self  that  I  trusted  him  to  go  out 
alone.  Rest  and  regular  meals  had  had  a  good  effect, 
although  his  mind  was  not  yet  entirely  free  from  the 
nightmare.  After  an  hour  or  two  he  returned,  and  then 
told  me  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  what  I 
said  was  true,  that  the  whole  thing  had  been  a  delusion 
and  a  scare  created  by  his  own  excited  imagination. 
He  said  his  mind  began  to  clear  as  he  lay  on  the 
grass,  his  face  buried  in  it  and  his  nostrils  inhaling 
the  sweet  fragrance  mingled  with  the  odour  of  the 
earth.  While  he  lay  thus,  the  words  he  had  heard 
kept  running  in  his  thoughts,  but  he  tried  in  vain  to 
conned:  them  with  the  speaker,  and  so  the  light  grad- 
ually broke  in  upon  his  dazed  mind  and  he  saw  that 
he  had  come  out  of  a  dream.  Being  now  all  right 
again  he  was  ready  to  depart  for  New  York.  He  bor- 
rowed what  was  needful,  and  I  never  saw  him  again. 
In  about  a  month  from  this,  as  near  as  I  can  make 
out,  Poe  lay  dead  in  a  Baltimore  hospital.  In  those 
few  weeks  how  much  had  happened,  and  how  hopeful 
seemed  the  prospects  for  his  future.  He  had  joined  a 
temperance  society,  delivered  lectures,  resumed  friendly 
relations  with  an  early  flame  of  his,  Mrs.  Sarah  E. 

[    212] 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


AMERICA 

Shelton,  and  become  engaged  to  her.  Dr.  John  J. 
Moran,  who  attended  the  poet  in  his  last  moments, 
says  that  Poe  parted  from  her  at  her  residence  in 
Richmond  at  four  in  the  afternoon  of  October  4, 
1849,  to  go  north.  She  states  that  when  he  said 
"good-bye"  he  paused  a  moment  as  if  reflecting,  and 
then  said  to  her,  "  I  have  a  singular  feeling,  amounting 
to  a  presentiment,  that  this  will  be  our  last  meeting 
until  we  meet  to  part  no  more,"  and  then  walked 
slowly  and  sadly  away.  Reaching  the  Susquehanna, 
he  refused  to  venture  across  because  of  the  wildness 
of  the  storm-driven  water,  and  he  returned  to  Balti- 
more/Alighting from  the  cars  he  was  seen  to  turn 
down  Pratt  Street  on  the  south  side,  followed  by  two 
suspicious  looking  characters  as  far  as  the  south-west 
corner  of  Pratt  and  Light  Streets.  A  fair  presump- 
tion is  that  they  got  him  into  one  of  the  abominable 
places  that  lined  the  wharf,  drugged  him,  and  robbed 
him  of  everything.  After  daybreak,  on  the  morning 
of  the  sixth,  a  gentleman  found  him  stretched  uncon- 
scious upon  a  broad  plank  across  some  barrels  on  the 
sidewalk.  Recognizing  him  he  obtained  a  hack  and 
gave  the  driver  a  card,  with  Mr.  Moran's  address  on 
it  and  on  the  lower  right-hand  corner  the  name  of 
"Poe." 

At  the  hospital  he  was  disrobed  of  the  wretched  ap- 
parel which  had  been  exchanged  for  his  good  clothing 
of  the  day  before,  and  he  was  put  comfortably  to  bed. 


REMINISCENCES 

After  consciousness  returned  the  doctor  said  to  him, 
"Mr.  Poe,  you  are  extremely  weak;  pulse  very  low;  I 
will  give  you  a  glass  of  toddy."  He  answered,  "Sir, 
if  I  thought  its  potency  would  transport  me  to  the 
Elysian  bowers  of  the  undiscovered  spirit  world,  I 
would  not  take  it."  "Then  I  will  give  you  an  opiate 
to  ensure  you  sleep  and  rest."  He  replied,  "Twin  sis- 
ter-spectre to  the  doomed  and  crazed  mortals  of  earth 
and  perdition."  The  doctor  records  he  found  no  tre- 
mor of  his  person,  no  unsteadiness  of  his  nerves, 
no  fidgetting  with  his  hands,  and  not  the  slightest 
odour  of  liquor  on  his  breath  or  person.  Poe  said 
after  a  sip  or  two  of  cold  water,  "Doctor,  it's  all  over." 
Dr.  Moran  confirmed  his  belief  that  his  end  was  near, 
and  asked  if  he  had  any  word  or  wish  for  friends.  He 
answered,  "Nevermore,"  and  continued,  "He  who 
arched  the  heavens  and  upholds  the  universe  has  His 
decrees  legibly  written  upon  the  frontlet  of  every  hu- 
man being  and  upon  demons  incarnate."  These  were 
his  last  words,  his  glassy  eyes  rolled  back,  a  slight 
tremor,  and  the  immortal  soul  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe 
passed  into  the  spirit  world,  October  7,  1849,  aged 
thirty-eight.  The  accepted  statement  that  Poe  died 
in  a  drunken  debauch  is  attested  by  Dr.  Moran  to  be 
a  calumny.  He  died  from  a  chill  caused  by  exposure 
during  the  night  under  a  cold  October  sky,  clad  only 
in  the  old  thin  bombazine  coat  and  trousers  which 
had  been  substituted  for  his  own  warm  clothing. 

[ 


AMERICA 

Poe's  face  was  handsome.  Although  his  forehead  when 
seen  in  profile  showed  a  receding  line  from  the  brow 
up,  viewed  from  the  front  it  presented  a  broad  and 
noble  expanse,  very  large  at  and  above  the  temples. 
His  lips  were  thin  and  very  delicately  modelled. 
Speaking  of  Poe  recalls  to  me  an  amusing  scene  I 
witnessed  in  my  office  between  two  of  the  literary 
fraternity,  Rufus  W.  Griswold  and  the  well-known 
author  of  Ben  Bolt.  The  latter  was  chatting  delightfully 
with  me  when  in  walked  Griswold.  I  knew  of  course 
that  they  must  be  acquainted,  and  yet  noticing  after 
awhile  that  they  behaved  like  strangers  I  apologized 
for  neglecting  to  introduce  them  and  for  assuming 
that  they  knew  each  other.  "Oh  yes,"  said  one  grimly, 
"we  know  one  another."  So  I  saw  there  was  bad 
blood  between  them.  A  cheerless  talk  ensued  for  a 
time,  when  a  name  was  spoken  by  chance  that  had 
a  magical  effect.  It  was  Poe,  and  they  fraternized  at 
once,  giving  it  to  him  right  and  left,  agreeing  that  he 
was  a  most  unjust  critic  and  a  bad  fellow  every  way. 
The  fact  is,  Poe  made  himself  enemies  all  around  by 
the  cutting  severity  of  his  criticisms.  Mr.  Thomas 
Cottrell  Clarke  told  me  that  he  started  the  Stylus  with 
Poe  as  its  literary  conductor,  and  the  project  was 
ruined  by  this  intensity  of  his  in  reviewing  the  writ- 
ings of  others.  He  abstained  equally,  as  a  general  rule, 
from  speaking  well  of  his  own  work,  but  on  one  occa- 
sion he  said  to  my  friend  and  neighbour,  Thomas 

[  215] 


REMINISCENCES 

Buchanan  Read,  "Anyway,  I  have  written  one  thing 
that  will  live — The  Raven" 

Mr.  Clarke's  daughter,  Miss  Anne  E.  C.  Clarke, 
quotes  her  father  as  saying  that  "it  took  less  liquor 
to  make  a  maniac  of  Poe  than  of  any  one  he  had  ever 
known,  and  that  Mrs.  Clemm  in  search  of  Eddie  at 
all  hours  of  the  night  was  as  sad  as  death."  She  says, 
"My  first  recollection  of  the  Poes  is  of  one  of  us  little 
children  singing  the  old  song  of  Gaffer  Poe  to  pretty 
Mrs.  Poe.  When  her  husband  came  home  at  night 
and  found  the  little  tot  in  his  bed,  storm-stayed  after 
a  day  spent  with  Mrs.  Poe  and  her  flowers,  she  made 
the  child  repeat  to  him  in  her  baby  speech  the  only 
verse  she  knew: 

Mr.  Poe  was  a  man  of  great  riches  and  fame -, 
And  I  loved  him,  I  'm  sure,  though  I  liked  not  his  name. 
He  asked  me  to  wed.  In  a  rage  I  said,  No, 
I'll  never  marry  you  and  he  called  Mrs.  Poe. 

(Spoken)  I  think  I  can  hear  the  little  children  in  the 
village  singing, 

that's  Mistress  Poe,  Goody  Poe,  Gaffer  Poe, 
Oh,  I '//  never  marry  you  and  he  called  Mrs.  Poe. 

Mr.   Poe's   delight  was   infinite,  and   he  gave   her  a 
pretty  box,  which  his  wife  filled  with  trinkets,  and  it 
is  one  of  her  chief  treasures  to  this  day." 
Mr.  Clarke  was  always  engaged  as  editor  upon  some 

[216] 


AMERICA 

daily  paper  or  other,  and  in  those  days  editing  meant 
something  different  from  what  it  does  now,  when  the 
duties  are  cut  up  and  divided  like  our  grandmothers' 
patchwork  quilts.  Then  it  was  real  solid,  all-day  work, 
with  sometimes  half  the  night  added,  for  one  man  — 
the  editor. 

Miss  Clarke  says  of  her  father,  "Writing  into  the  wee 
hours,  he  worked  in  the  basement  dining-room  of  his 
house  at  Twelfth  and  Walnut  Streets,  where  he  wrote 
from  preference  because  more  accessible  to  cthe  boys/ 
as  he  called  them,  for  it  could  be  entered  through  an 
area  in  front.  Coming  late  from  their  wild  evenings 
down  town,  they  would  find  this  busy  worker,  who, 
though  he  never  drank  liquor  nor  used  tobacco  in  any 
way  himself,  gladly  welcomed  them  here,  where  they 
disturbed  his  household  little  with  their  noise  and 
their  smoke.  Tapping  on  the  window  pane,  they 
would  be  let  in  laden  like  bees  with  news  to  be  re- 
hashed and  delivered  to  the  printer's  devil.  And  often 
would  Poe  drop  in  on  his  way  home, — he  then  lived 
near  Locust  Street  on  Sixteenth,  at  that  time  named 
Schuylkill  Seventh  Street, — and  Mrs.  Clarke  would 
send  him  coffee  to  clear  his  head  before  going  home 
to  pretty  Virginia  and  his  patient  mother-in-law,  Mrs. 
Clemm." 


[217] 


CHAPTER      XIV 

Sar tarn's  Magazine — Henry  B.  Hirst,  Thomas  Dunn 
English,  R.  H.  Stoddard,  John  Howard  Payne — Aboli- 
tion Society — Christ  Rejected,  King  Solomon  and  the  Iron 
Worker,  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  and  other  Large  Plates— 
American  Gallery  of  Art — Tear  in  Europe — Larkin  G. 
Mead 

CERTAIN  William  Sloanaker  had  been 
book-keeper  for  Atkinson  while  he  pub- 
lished The  Casket,  and  afterwards  held  the 
same  position  under  Graham  and  Peterson  when  that 
publication  was  transferred  to  them.  He  became  busi- 
ness manager  and  book-keeper  on  the  new  venture  of 
Mr.  Graham  also,  and  continued  on  it  until  Graham's 
failure  in  1848.  He  then  proposed  to  me  to  join  him 
on  equal  shares  in  the  purchase  of  the  subscription 
list  of  a  New  York  periodical  called  The  Union  Maga- 
zine, which  could  be  had  for  five  thousand  dollars.  I 
was  not  inclined  to  agree  to  it,  having  a  few  years 
before  lost  several  thousand  dollars  in  Campbell's  For- 
eign Semi-Monthly.  But  Sloanaker  made  such  alluring 
representations,  and  urged  the  projecl  so  forcibly,  that 
I  committed  the  mistake  of  embarking  on  that  "fool's 
errand."  It  was  indeed  a  disastrous  venture  to  me  and 
to  all  fish  that  were  caught  in  my  partner's  net.  He 

[218] 


AMERICA 

ana  t  owned  the  magazine  in  equal  shares,  as  we  pro- 
vided the  purchase  money  equally  for  the  Union  Mag- 
azine list,  and  our  duties  were  also  divided.  I  was  to 
conduct  the  art  department  and  he  the  business  man- 
agement, each  with  a  salary.  For  editor-in-chief  we 
engaged  Professor  John  S.  Hart,  associated  with  Mrs. 
Caroline  M.  Kirkland,  who  had  been  editor  of  the 
work  we  had  purchased.  The  first  number  was  launched 
January  i,  1849,  under  the  title  of  Sartain's  Union 
Magazine. 

The  literary  friend  at  whose  instance  this  book  of  my 
reminiscences  is  written  insists  that  I  insert  in  this 
connection  a  list  of  our  writers  and  the  prices  paid  for 
their  articles,  as  an  indication  of  the  change  in  current 
rates  between  now  and  half  a  century  ago.  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  doing  this  but  for  his  urgent 
insistence,  and  at  best  I  can  only  touch  upon  it  in  the 
briefest  possible  way.  To  spread  out  in  full  all  that 
Mr.  Janvier  desires  would  fill  a  volume  and  is  there- 
fore impossible.  Even  a  mere  list  of  all  our  contribu- 
tors would  reach  a  tedious  length,  and  effort  to  give 
the  prices  paid  would  require  much  time  spent  in 
singling  out  each  particular  article  from  a  number  by 
the  same  author.  The  whole  expenses  for  the  literary 
department  for  1849  were  $7>i  74?  including  editors' 
salaries,  and  the  total  cost  of  everything  for  that  year 
was  $34,592.75.  Among  our  contributors  were  Henry 
W.  Longfellow,  J.  Russell  Lowell,  Bayard  Taylor, 

[  219] 


REMINISCENCES 

Harriet  Martineau,  W.  Gilmore  Simms,  Frederika 
Bremer,  Lydia  Maria  Child,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  John 
Neal,  Nathaniel  P.  Willis,  Joseph  R.  Chandler,  George 
H.  Boker,  Charles  G.  Leland,  George  W.  Bethune, 
D.  D.,  Horace  Binney  Wallace,  Thomas  Buchanan 
Read,  Prof.  Joseph  Alden,  Henry  Tuckerman,  Park 
Benjamin,  Henry  B.  Hirst,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  Dr.  Wil- 
liam Elder,  William  H.  Furness,  D.  D.,  R.  H.  Stod- 
dard,  Fan  Featherby,  Francis  de  H.  Janvier,  Francis 
J.  Grund,  Thoreau,  John  S.  Dwight,  Fanny  Forester, 
Miss  Brown,  Silver  Pen,  Eliza  L.  Sproat,  Edith  and 
Caroline  May,  Mary  Howitt,  Thomas  Dunn  English, 
Alice  and  Phoebe  Cary,  Frances  S.  Osgood,  Miss  E. 
A.  Starr,  Henry  W.  Herbert,  Mrs.  Annie  H.  Stevens, 
Mrs.  Sedgwick,  Ignatius  L.  Donnelly,  Mrs.  C.  H. 
Esling,  Anna  Lynch,  Grace  Greenwood  and  others 
too  numerous  to  mention.  As  to  the  prices  paid  I  can 
mention  only  a  few.  Longfellow  never  received  less 
than  fifty  dollars  each  for  his  numerous  articles.  Hor- 
ace Binney  Wallace  was  paid  forty  dollars  for  his  arti- 
cle on  Washington  Irving,  and  Poe  received  forty-five 
dollars  for  Tlie  Bells.  In  the  form  he  first  submitted 
it,  consisting  of  eighteen  lines  of  small  merit,  he  re- 
ceived fifteen  dollars,  but  after  he  had  rewritten  and 
improved  it  to  a  hundred  and  thirteen  lines  he  was 
paid  thirty  dollars  more.  Poe  received  thirty  dollars 
for  his  article  on  The  Poetic  Principle. 
Dr.  Bethune's  four-page  articles  on  Aunt  Betsy  brought 

[    220] 


AMERICA 

him  fifty  dollars  each.  Nathaniel  P.  Willis  and  Joseph 
R.  Chandler  received  fifty  dollars  each  for  their  five 
or  six  page  articles,  and  Francis  J.  Grund  sixty-five 
dollars  for  his  paper  on  Kossuth.  John  Neal  was  paid 
twenty-five  dollars  for  What  is  Poetry?  and  Prof.  Jo- 
seph Alden  averaged  thirty-five  dollars  for  each  of  his 
contributions.  Miss  Brown  and  Edith  and  Caroline 
May  averaged  about  ten  or  twelve  dollars  per  poem, 
and  William  Dowe  was  content  to  receive  four  dollars 
per  page  for  his  prose,  a  page  holding  nearly  nine 
hundred  words.  Many  poems  of  merit  were  printed 
that  cost  only  five  dollars  each,  it  being  well  under- 
stood that  the  name  is  valued  as  well  as  the  writing. 
In  connection  with  this  subject  of  prices  paid  to  au- 
thors, the  following  note  from  Poe  to  his  publishers, 
Carey  &  Lea,  is  not  without  interest. 

1AM  anxious  that  your  firm  should  continue  to  be 
my  publishers,  and  if  you  would  be  willing  to  bring 
out  the  book  I  should  be  glad  to  accept  the  terms 
you  allowed  me  before — that  is — you  receive  all 
profits  and  allow  me  twenty  copies  for  distribution  to 
friends. 

Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  an  early  reply 
to  this  letter,  and  believe  me 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 

[22,    ] 


REMINISCENCES 


CttC 


This  is  in  remarkable  contrast  with  the  terms  he  could 
have  secured  at  the  present  time,  although  it  must  be 
remembered  that  the  above  note  relates  to  the  repro- 
duction of  matter  that  had  already  been  published. 
The  sharp  competition  among  the  very  numerous 
periodicals  of  the  present  day  has  increased  the  de- 
mand for  manuscripts  and  consequently  their  money 
value,  while  at  the  same  time  the  greatly  enlarged 
circulation  of  late  years  enables  publishers  to  pay  more 
liberally  than  was  possible  with  the  small  issues  of 
nearly  half  a  century  ago.  Gerald  Griffin,  author  of 
Colleen  Bawn,  was  elated  at  being  offered  so  much  as 
five  dollars  per  page  for  sketches  for  the  Literary  Ga- 
zette ',  the  pages  being  quarto  and  the  type  small. 
Late  in  the  year  1852  it  suited  the  personal  and  pri- 
vate interests  of  my  partner,  who  had  the  business 
management  in  his  hands,  to  bring  the  affairs  of  the 
Magazine  to  a  close.  The  last  four  numbers  of  that 

[222] 


AMERICA 

year  were  supplied  to  our  subscribers  by  a  New  York 
magazine.  This  set  me  free  once  more  to  give  my  un- 
divided attention  to  my  proper  business  of  engraving. 
The  consequences  of  the  transaction,  however,  re- 
mained long  a  heavy  burden  on  me.  I  was  determined 
to  pay  in  full  and  with  interest  all  paper  that  bore  my 
signature,  and  it  was  more  than  seven  years  and  a  half 
before  I  had  paid  off  the  last  of  my  endorsements. 
Although  my  labours  connected  with  the  Magazine 
were  often  of  a  vexatious  nature  and  cost  me  the 
sacrifice  of  money  and  valuable  time,  and  were  a  hin- 
drance in  my  proper  field  of  art  work,  yet  they  were 
not  without  counterbalancing  pleasures  in  the  personal 
acquaintance  and  friendship  of  professional  writers. 
My  own  profession  has  brought  me  in  contact  with 
the  leading  men  of  the  country  throughout  my  long 
career.  There  are  few  distinguished  men,  especially 
before  the  day  of  photography,  whose  portraits  I  have 
not  engraved,  from  the  presidents  down  through  all 
branches  of  statesmanship,  finance,  art,  and  literature. 
From  many  I  had  personal  sittings,  which  often  re- 
sulted in  delightful  friendships.  I  recall  one  amusing 
episode  in  connection  with  the  engraving  I  made  of 
Charles  Sumner.  I  had  received  a  note  which  I  thought 
was  written  by  Prescott,  making  an  appointment  for 
Sumner  and  Prescott  to  call  at  my  office.  When  I 
learned  that  it  was  in  Sumner's  hand  he  thought  my 
face  expressed  disappointment,  and,  long  after,  he 

[  223 1 


REMINISCENCES 

spoke  of  it  to  me  again,  showing  what  a  deep  impres- 
sion such  a  trivial  occurrence  had  made  upon  him. 
As  literary  men  are  always  of  interest  to  the  public,  I 
will  devote  a  few  pages  to  the  recollections  of  my  in- 
tercourse with  some  of  the  contributors  to  Sartairfs 
Magazine.  Henry  B.  Hirst,  a  rollicking  companion 
of  Poe's,  to  whom  recently  there  has  been  an  effort 
made  to  ascribe  some  of  Poe's  best  poems,  wrote  for 
the  magazine  every  month  during  1852.  In  May  he 
began  a  series  called  Rhein  Wein,  Flagon  First,  and  so 
on.  The  poems  were  brilliant  till  the  fourth,  which 
showed  a  sudden  breaking  down,  and  he  soon  gave 
marked  signs  of  a  complete  decay  of  his  faculties. 
Hirst's  office  was  within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  house 
in  Sansom  Street,  and  he  would  come  in  on  me  two 
or  three  times  every  day.  Sometimes  he  would  insist 
on  dragging  me  off  to  drink  absinthe  with  him,  but 
he  succeeded  twice  only.  I  then  resolutely  stopped, 
for  I  knew  the  evil  of  it.  He  did  not  stop,  and  the 
end  is  well  known.  Every  time  he  left  my  office  he 
said,  "Eau  reservoir,"  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  and 
seemed  proud  of  the  witticism. 

Miss  Clarke  speaks  of  him  as  one  of  the  nightly  vis- 
itors in  her  father's  editorial  sanctum.  She  says, 
"Henry  B.  Hirst  would  come  swaggering  in,  making 
rings  of  cigar  smoke  and  telling  yarns  galore.  £The 
most  accomplished  liar  of  his  day'  they  used  to  call 
him.  Among  his  highly  figurative  accounts  of  his  own 

[  224] 


AMERICA 

talents  was  one,  that  it  was  a  common  thing  for  him 
when  a  school-boy  to  commit  to  memory  ten  pages 
or  three  hundred  lines  of  a  Greek  or  Latin  poem 
while  walking  up  three  flights  of  stairs.  He  was  always 
falling  in  love  with  one  or  other  of  the  girl  visitors  at 
our  house,  and  would  spout  extempore  verses  by  the 
yard.  Some  impromptu  verses  of  his  in  an  album  are 
still  preserved.  A  very  pretty  girl,  now  Mrs.  Robert 
Mustin,  had  begged  him  to  write  something  for  her. 
He  asked  her  what  he  should  write  on.  She  quickly 
answered,  cOn  paper.'  Without  hesitation  he  indited 
the  following: 

Fair  sheet,  whose  spotless  face  I  stain, 

Forgive  my  sinless  crime; 
At  woman's  call  I  weave  my  chain 

In  very  sorry  rhyme. 
In  very  sorry  rhyme  I  weave 

A  strain  which  staggers  me, 
And — for  the  last  much  more  I  grieve — 

Somewhat  disfigures  thee. 

H.  B.  H. 

Another  day  for  the  same  lady  he  wrote, 

Cold  he  my  heart  when  the  light  of  thy  beauty 
Departs,  and  my  hrow  he  in  sorrow  laid  low, 

For  to  love  thee,  dear  maiden,  is  nought  hut  a  duty, 
A  duty  which  hrings  me  more  pleasure  than  woe. 

'5  [    225    ] 


REMINISCENCES 

Then  how  should  it  bring  me,  ah,  never  the  glances 
That  leap  from  thine  eyes  so  delightful  with  light, 

*T  would  gladden  my  soul  like  the  brooklet  that  dances 
The  brighter  when  warmed  by  the  kisses  of  night." 

Miss  Clarke  continues,  "Among  the  callers  or  stop- 
pers-in  would  be  'Tom'  as  he  was  called,  Dr.  Thomas 
Dunn  English,  who,  after  being  ban  camarade  with 
Hirst  and  Poe,  quarrelled  with  one  or  both.  All  three 
of  them  happening  in  early  one  evening,  they  had  to 
be  kept  apart  lest  they  come  to  deadly  strife.  English 
was  put  in  the  parlour,  Hirst  in  the  library,  where  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  lying  prone  on  a  lounge  by  the 
hour,  dreaming  dreams  and  seeing  visions,  and  Poe 
was  shown  as  usual  into  the  dining-room." 
In  his  broken-down  condition,  result  doubtless  of  the 
absinthe  habit,  Hirst  would  come  to  see  me  often  and 
stay  until  late  in  the  night.  Seated  beside  me  he  would 
attempt  to  write  poetry.  Purring  like  a  cat  and  sway- 
ing his  body  to  and  fro  to  the  rhythm  he  was  trying, 
he  would  jot  down  words  here  and  there  with  intervals 
left  to  be  filled  up.  Sometimes  I  would  suggest  an  ap- 
propriate word,  when  down  it  would  go  with  "That 's 
it,  that 's  just  it."  He  was  in  such  a  dilapidated  state 
physically  and  mentally  that  I  continued  in  dread  that 
he  might  die  on  my  hands  then  and  there. 
But  before  he  fell  into  this  sad  condition,  and  while  he 
was  still  in  his  prime,  we  had  some  pleasant  times.  I 

226 


AMERICA 

well  remember  a  day  when  my  valued  friend,  R.  H. 
Stoddard,  the  poet,  spent  an  afternoon  in  my  office 
with   Hirst  and  me.  It  was  a  genuine  feast  of  reason 
and  flow  of  soul,  but  Bacchus  was  not  of  the  company. 
Mr.  Stoddard  was  always  from  the  first  a  welcome  con- 
tributor to  the  magazine,  and  continued  so  to  the  end. 
His  Carmen  Nature  ^riumphale,  published  in  the  num- 
ber for  May,  1852,  was  an  admirable  production,  and 
I  had  engraved  for  it  a  heading  after  Retsch,  as  fine  a 
work  of  art  as  I  esteemed  the  poem  to  be.  About  the 
same  time  he  read  to  us  some  exquisitely  beautiful  pas- 
sages from  an  unfinished  poem,  Tfe  Search  for  Persephone. 
I  do  not  know  whether  he  ever  completed  it. 
One  day  I  received  a  visit  from  John  Howard  Payne 
at  my  home  in  Sansom  Street.  After  conversing  some 
time  on  literary  subjects,  he  said  that  he  had  received 
a  government  appointment  as  consul  at  Tunis,  Africa, 
and  that  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  possibly  I  might 
like  to  have  an  occasional  article  from  that  interesting 
locality.  I   said  I  thought  it  would  be  very  desirable 
and  wished  he  would  take   the  trouble  to  call  upon 
Professor  Hart,  our  editor,  who  had  entire  control  of 
his  department.  With  him  suitable  arrangements  could 
be  made  if  he  took  the  same  view  of  the  matter  as  I 
did.  I  knew  that  he  was  already  overloaded  with  mate- 
rial, and  it  was  my   rule    to  abstain  from  interfering 
with  his  business.  Whether  the  interview  took  place  I 
never  knew,  but  certainly  nothing  ever  came  of  it. 

[  227] 


REMINISCENCES 

Before  Payne  left  I  asked  him  to  oblige  me  by  accom- 
panying me  to  Marcus  Root's  gallery  to  sit  for  his 
portrait.  To  this  he  cheerfully  consented.  The  picture 
was  a  daguerreotype,  for  it  was  before  the  days  of  pho- 
tographs on  paper.  After  it  was  done  he  remarked, 
"This  is  the  last  portrait  I  shall  ever  sit  for."  Some 
years  later  I  lent  this  picture  in  New  York,  and  it  was 
never  returned  to  me. 

While  I  was  in  London  as  chief  of  the  art  department 
of  the  American  exhibition  at  Earl's  Court  in  1887,  a 
portrait  of  Payne  was  brought  me  by  its  owner,  and  I 
hung  it  on  the  wall  of  one  of  the  six  picture  galleries. 
It  was  painted  by  Charles  R.  Leslie  at  a  time  when 
both  the  artist  and  his  subject  were  young.  It  repre- 
sented Payne  in  the  character  of  Hamlet,  and  was  life- 
size  on  a  25^30  canvas.  The  owner  was  anxious  to 
dispose  of  it,  and  I  wrote  to  my  friend,  Mr.  W.  W. 
Corcoran  of  Washington.  As  he  had  taken  so  much 
interest  in  Payne  as  to  cause  his  remains  to  be  brought 
from  Africa  to  the  land  of  his  birth  and  to  defray  all 
the  expenses  attending  it,  I  supposed  he  would  be 
glad  to  secure  the  portrait,  but  it  was  declined. 
Apropos  of  literary  men  I  may  mention  that  I  have 
in  my  collection  of  autographs  a  letter  from  Bayard 
Taylor  written  to  me  when  he  was  a  boy  of  seventeen, 
asking  me  to  train  him  to  be  an  engraver.  The  corre- 
spondence ended  with  my  answer  that  I  never  took 
pupils,  but  his  letter  chanced  to  be  preserved,  and  it 

[  228] 


AMERICA 

came  again  under  my  notice  when  he  had  risen  into 
prominence  in  the  world  of  letters. 
It  would  hardly  do  to  pass  over  in  total  silence  a  con- 
dition of  affairs  that  during  many  years  seriously  af- 
fe<5ted  my  personal  interests  through  my  affiliation 
with  the  anti-slavery  party.  The  organization  of  the 
society  that  advocated  the  right  of  the  slave  to  imme- 
diate emancipation  occurred  on  the  first  day  of  Au- 
gust, 1835,  tne  date  being  chosen  because  it  was  the 
first  anniversary  of  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the 
West  Indian  dependencies  of  the  British  Empire. 
This  sudden  change  had  passed  off  peaceably,  not- 
withstanding the  predictions  of  scenes  of  violence  by 
those  who  favoured  the  continuance  in  bondage  of  all 
people  of  African  descent. 

The  consequences  to  all  known  to  belong  to  that 
hated  and  despised  association  were  in  various  ways 
extremely  damaging.  All  kinds  of  obloquy  were  heaped 
upon  them,  and  most  absurd  falsehoods  were  invented 
to  render  them  odious.  So  many  people  had  profitable 
business  relations  with  the  South  that  they  banded 
together  as  one  man  to  stamp  out  an  alleged  heresy 
that  threatened  harm  to  the  pocket,  and  the  large 
number  of  southern  youths  studying  in  our  northern 
colleges  enjoyed  the  fomenting  of  riotous  tumults 
whenever  opportunity  offered.  Those  were  indeed 
"times  that  tried  men's  souls." 
Slavery,  however,  continued  to  grow  in  power,  and  the 

[229] 


REMINISCENCES 

moral  suasion  principles  of  the  abolitionists  looked 
ridiculous,  but  still  the  p^rty  did  not  disband,  although 
they  felt  the  case  was  hopeless.  Little  did  they  think 
that  the  very  strengthening  of  slavery  was  to  hasten 
its  destruction.  It  was  said  of  old,  "Whom  the  gods 
would  destroy  they  first  make  mad,"  and  the  over- 
bearing insolence  of  the  slave-power  reached  a  pitch 
that  passed  the  bounds  of  northern  endurance.  Penn- 
sylvania law  made  slaves  free  as  soon  as  they  touched 
her  soil,  provided  they  had  been  brought  there  by 
their  owners,  and  cases  occurred  in  which  personal 
slave-servants  availed  themselves  of  their  right  as  soon 
as  they  were  informed  of  it.  Pennsylvanians  were  not 
a  little  proud  of  this  statute,  and  the  new  law  passed 
by  the  United  States  Congress,  by  which  every  one 
could  be  converted  into  a  slave-catcher  on  demand, 
was  the  last  straw  that  broke  the  camel's  back.  The 
North  was  aroused  and  elecled  Lincoln  president,  with 
the  result  we  know. 

One  fa6t  stands  out  prominently  in  this  struggle  be- 
tween right  and  wrong,  and  I,  as  an  Englishman  and 
as  a  sufferer  for  conscience'  sake,  have  a  claim  to 
speak.  It  is  highly  discreditable  to  human  nature  that 
as  the  North  for  years  sided  generally  with  the  slave- 
power,  all  for  the  greed  of  gain,  so  for  the  same  mo- 
tive England,  after  goading  America  incessantly  with 
irritating  sneers  about  the  disgrace  of  slavery,  sided 
with  slavery  against  freedom  as  soon  as  the  conflict 

[  230] 


AMERICA 

began.  During  the  war  I  went  to  Europe  with  my 
daughter  Emily,  and  can  speak  of  the  feeling  in  Great 
Britain  from  personal  knowledge  and  experience. 
The  last  plate  I  engraved  before  leaving  in  1862  was 
from  West's  large  picture  known  as  Christ  Rejeffed, 
which  had  been  brought  to  this  country  by  Mr.  Joseph 
Harrison,  who  gave  me  the  commission.  The  work  on 
the  steel  was  thirty-six  inches  in  length  and  twenty- 
five  in  height,  and  there  were  more  than  seventy 
heads  in  the  composition.  This  painting  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine 
Arts,  having  been  presented  to  it  by  Mr.  Harrison's 
widow. 

A  few  years  later  Mr.  Harrison  gave  me  a  commis- 
sion to  engrave  another  plate  of  the  same  size,  as  com- 
panion to  Christ  Rejected.  It  was  from  a  picture  painted 
for  him  by  Christian  Schussele,  entitled  King  Solomon 
and  the  Iron  Worker,  illustrating  a  rabbinical  legend  that 
at  the  dedication  of  Solomon's  Temple  a  blacksmith 
occupied  the  seat  of  honour  at  the  right  of  the  king. 
While  a  boy,  working  in  a  machine  shop,  Harrison 
had  come  across  this  legend,  and  it  appealed  strongly 
to  him  as  upholding  and  typifying  the  dignity  of  man- 
ual labour.  After  the  successful  completion  of  his  con- 
tracts with  the  Russian  government  for  building  rail- 
ways, he  realized  a  lifelong  project  in  giving  the  order 
for  this  picture,  and  the  commission  for  the  engraving 
followed. 

[  231  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

I  engraved  two  other  unusually  large  plates  soon 
after.  Men  of  Progress,  a  group  of  American  inventors 
after  a  painting  by  Schussele,  and  the  Battle  of  Gettys- 
burg after  Rothermers  big  canvas  painted  for  the 
state  of  Pennsylvania.  The  Men  of  Progress  steel  finally 
came  into  the  possession  of  the  Scientific  American^  and 
disappeared  in  the  disastrous  fire  which  destroyed 
their  property. 

The  story  of  the  way  the  Christ  Rejected  picture  came 
to  be  brought  to  this  country  is  worth  relating.  Rich- 
ardson, the  Philadelphia  picture-restorer,  was  in  Lon- 
don, and  strolling  one  day  up  Rathbone  Place,  he  saw 
a  small  written  placard  in  a  shop  window  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  that  narrow  way.  He  crossed  to  read  it  and 
found  that  it  was  a  notice  that  West's  great  picture  of 
Christ  Rejected  was  within  and  for  sale.  He  went  in  to 
see  it  and  make  inquiries,  but  was  told  that  to  unroll 
it  and  show  it  would  be  a  work  of  so  much  time  and 
labour  they  would  have  to  charge  for  it.  Asking  how 
much  it  would  cost,  the  answer  was  eight  pounds,  so  he 
went  no  further  in  the  matter. 

After  his  return  to  Philadelphia  he  casually  alluded 
to  the  incident  one  day  in  Mr.  Harrison's  company, 
and  said  to  him,  "That  's  a  picture  you  ought  to  get," 
but  elicited  no  rejoinder.  Many  months  later,  he 
asked  Mr.  Harrison  if  he  had  ever  given  a  thought 
to  the  West  painting,  and  to  his  surprise  and  gratifica- 
tion received  the  answer,  "What  if  it  is  already  on  its 


AMERICA 

way  here?"  My  plate  from  it  was  executed  under 
great  difficulties,  for  the  picture  hung  on  the  end  wall 
of  a  long  room  in  Handel  and  Haydn  Hall,  which 
belonged  to  Mr.  Harrison,  imperfectly  lighted  at  one 
side  only  by  a  small,  double  window,  while  the  rest 
of  the  canvas,  the  larger  part,  was  in  obscurity. 
I  have  accomplished  two  other  commissions  under 
still  greater  difficulties,  and  both  resulted  successfully. 
The  first  was  a  whole-length  portrait  of  Martin  Van 
Buren,  engraved  from  the  painting  by  Henry  Inman 
that  hung  in  the  Governor's  Room  in  the  City  Hall, 
New  York.  The  city  authorities  refused  to  lend  the 
picture,  so  I  made  a  sketch  by  the  eye  alone,  without 
the  aid  of  any  of  the  usual  appliances.  After  engrav- 
ing the  plate  in  my  studio  in  Philadelphia,  I  took  a 
proof  to  New  York  and  touched  on  it  with  white 
chalk  for  corrections,  and  thus  finished  my  work,  hav- 
ing had  only  four  days  in  all  with  the  original.  When 
I  submitted  the  proof  to  the  painter  he  was  very 
much  pleased  with  it,  and  had  no  suggestions  to  offer 
for  its  further  improvement.  Inman  had  warned  me 
in  advance,  when  I  was  about  to  apply  for  the  loan 
of  the  picture,  that  the  chances  would  be  against  me, 
because  he,  my  backer,  was  a  democrat,  while  the  ma- 
jority of  the  aldermen  were  whigs.  They  were  very 
courteous  to  me,  however,  and  insisted  on  my  par- 
taking with  them  of  the  supper  which  intervened  mid- 
way in  the  evening's  business.  I  learned  elsewhere  of 

[  233  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

an  offence  Inman  had  committed  in  offering  the  toast, 
"Let  us  democrats  hold -together,  and  let  the  whigs 
hang  together." 

The  other  large  plate  that  I  engraved  under  similar 
disadvantages  was  from  Leutze's  painting  of  John  Knox 
and  Mary,  Qjieen  of  Scots.  This  picture  was  adopted  as 
the  subject  of  the  annual  distribution  print  of  the 
Philadelphia  Art  Union,  through  the  advocacy  of  its 
president,  Mr.  James  McMurtrie.  But  the  painting 
was  owned  by  Mr.  John  Towne,  who,  although  a 
member  of  the  board  of  managers,  refused  to  lend  the 
picture,  chiefly  out  of  antagonism  to  McMurtrie,  who 
had  scoffed  contemptuously  at  his  knowledge  and 
judgment  in  art  matters.  Some  peacemakers  inter- 
vened, however,  and  I  was  permitted  to  make  a 
sketch,  and  the  plate  was  engraved  in  the  same  way  as 
the  Van  Buren  had  before  been  done. 
As  a  general  thing  I  did  an  enormous  amount  of  work 
at  my  own  proper  business,  in  addition  to  a  great  deal 
from  which  I  ought  to  have  kept  myself  free.  During 
my  editorship  of  my  Foreign  Semi-Monthly  I  accom- 
plished my  regular  amount  of  engraving  in  orders  from 
publishers  and  others,  besides  finishing  a  plate  every 
two  weeks  for  my  own  periodical,  frequently  ending 
my  day's  stint  by  correcting  printers'  proof  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  engraved  for  E.  H.  Butler 
in  one  summer  season  as  many  as  forty-five  plates  for 
the  annuals  he  published  himself  or  prepared  for  Bos- 

[234] 


AMERICA 

ton  publishers,  as  well  as  the  quarto  plates  for  Carey 
and  Hart's  annual,  "The  Diadem,  edited  by  the  Rev. 
William  H.  Furness. 

In  1847  I  owned  and  edited  a  quarto  volume  entitled 
The  American  Gallery  of  Art.  As  it  is  now  out  of  sight 
and  entirely  a  thing  of  the  past,  I  may  be  excused  for 
quoting  a  review  of  it  by  Dr.  William  Elder.  "The 
work  before  us,  the  first  volume  it  ought  to  be  called, 
is  in  quarto,  very  elegantly  bound,  a  hundred  and  ten 
pages  of  letter-press  and  eleven  engravings,  all  exe- 
cuted by  the  editor's  own  unsurpassed  skill.  Mrt.  Sar- 
tain  to  the  genius  and  industry  of  eminent  art  adds  its 
richest  enthusiasm  and  most  generous  spirit,  and  the 
heart  of  the  man  liberalizes  the  work  of  the  artist.  In 
his  personal  character  the  public  has  the  best  assurance 
of  the  worthiest  work  which  his  high  and  broad  range 
of  talent  qualifies  him  to  achieve." 
When  the  large  plate  of  Christ  Rejected  was  finished, 
as  I  have  said,  my  daughter  and  I  departed  for  Eu- 
rope, going  by  the  way  of  Canada.  At  Quebec  our  trip 
and  my  life's  journey  came  very  near  being  brought  to 
a  full  stop.  On  the  morning  of  sailing  I  went  out  for 
a  short  stroll  before  breakfast,  and  descended  to  a 
street  between  the  water  and  the  foot  of  the  Mount. 
Here  I  walked  along  forgetfully  so  far  that  I  inquired 
of  a  cottager  if  there  were  no  short  way  back.  He  said 
I  could  climb  the  path  which  zigzagged  up  from  just 
where  I  stood,  and  he  pointed  to  a  couple  of  men 

[  235  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

near  the  top,  but  it  was  "mighty  onconvanient."  I  re- 
marked that  where  they  could  go  I  could,  and  started. 
Unfortunately,  when  near  the  top  I  missed  the  path, 
mistaking  a  watercourse  for  it.  This  soon  became  so 
steep  that  I  could  advance  only  by  fitting  my  breast 
against  the  surface  of  the  earth  and  wriggling  myself 
forward  like  a  worm.  I  caught  a  glimpse  under  my  arm- 
pit of  the  top  of  the  tall  mast  of  a  large  ship  far  below 
me.  Goethe  says,  "Courage  gone,  all's  gone,"  and  so 
it  seemed  with  me.  By  slow  degrees  I  reached  the 
true  path  above,  and,  arrived  at  the  top,  I  lay  down 
on  the  grass,  face  to  the  sky,  and  panted,  my  heart 
beating  more  violently  than  it  ever  did  before  or  since. 
Such  a  childish  panic  had  taken  possession  of  me,  that 
I  came  near  letting  myself  go  down  the  cliff  to  death 
in  sheer  despair. 

We  had  been  on  the  ship  only  seven  days  when  we 
landed  at  Londonderry  in  the  north  of  Ireland, — a 
short  passage  for  those  days.  Thence  we  went  to  Bel- 
fast and  across  to  Glasgow,  then  to  Edinburgh  by 
way  of  the  Trossachs  and  Loch  Katrine,  and  through 
the  most  interesting  places  of  England  to  London, 
where  we  made  a  long  stay,  studying  the  International 
Exhibition,  then  open,  and  the  other  attractions  of 
the  great  modern  Babylon.  When  later  we  went  to 
Florence,  taking  Paris  on  the  way,  we  travelled  over, 
not  under,  Mont  Cenis,  as  the  mountain  had  not  then 
been  tunnelled.  I  had  with  me  an  order  to  engrave  a 

[  236] 


AMERICA 

large  plate  after  Schussele's  Zeishurger  preaching  to 
the  Indians.  The  steel,  and  a  black-and-white  copy  of 
the  painting  by  the  artist  himself,  were  forwarded  to 
meet  us  on  our  arrival  at  Florence,  and  there  we 
settled  down  for  a  delightful  season  of  work  and  en- 
joyment in  that  beautiful  city.  Its  broad  mediaeval 
walls,  now  represented  by  the  gates  only,  were  stand- 
ing inta6t.  Donatello's  St.  George  still  stood  in  the 
niche  in  the  outside  wall  of  Or  San  Michele  where 
the  sculptor  himself  had  placed  it;  the  Old  Market, 
the  Ghetto,  and  many  other  characteristic  features  of 
the  Florence  of  Dante  and  Savonarola  were  as  yet 
unmolested  by  the  modern  spirit  of  change.  We  had 
apartments  in  the  Via  Maggio,  Street  of  May,  and 
not  far  away  was  the  house  immortalized  by  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Browning  in  her  Casa  Guidi  Windows.  Hart, 
the  American  sculptor,  had  rooms  in  Casa  Grazzini, 
as  had  also  Larkin  G.  Mead,  who  was  then  only  be- 
ginning as  an  artist,  but  has  now  attained  so  high  a 
rank  in  his  profession  as  to  be  professor  in  the  Flor- 
entine Academy  of  San  Marco,  although  an  American 
sculptor.  It  was  through  Mr.  Hart's  interest  that  we 
were  lodged  in  the  same  house  with  him.  About  the 
year  1842,  when  he  was  in  Philadelphia  with  his  mar- 
ble bust  of  Cassius  M.  Clay,  I  had  the  opportunity 
of  being  of  some  service  to  him,  and  he  never  forgot  it. 
Hart  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  when  young  Mead 
arrived  in  Florence  he  invited  him  to  make  use  of  his 

[237] 


REMINISCENCES 

studio  in  the  Piazza  Indipendenza,  in  the  newly-built 
portion  of  the  city.  Here,  as  a  study,  Mead  modelled 
in  clay  a  copy  of  an  antique,  a  female  torso.  On  Mr. 
Hart's  suggestion  that  it  would  be  good  practice,  he 
added  a  head  and  arms  and  legs  according  to  his 
judgment  of  what  should  be  the  movement,  with 
successful  result.  The  final  pose  and  name  of  his  com- 
pleted statue  originated  in  a  novel  and  entertaining 
fashion.  He  was  at  that  time  unacquainted  with  the 
Italian  language,  and  hearing  the  waiters  in  the  restau- 
rants constantly  exclaiming  "Ecco"  as  they  placed 
before  the  guests  the  dishes  that  had  been  called  for, 
the  sound  suggested  the  idea  of  naming  his  figure 
Echo,  which  he  rendered  appropriate  by  slight  modifi- 
cations of  the  action  to  make  her  appear  as  if  listening. 
Some  Washington  friends,  who  had  accompanied  us 
abroad,  and  with  whom  we  had  travelled  considerably 
in  Europe,  joined  us  later  at  Casa  Grazzini,  and  their 
intimate  friend  and  neighbour,  Mr.  W.  W.  Corcoran, 
was  a  frequent  visitor.  He  thus  became  acquainted 
with  Mead  and  his  work,  and  I  took  occasion  to  say 
to  him  that  a  commission  to  an  artist  just  beginning 
his  career,  even  if  it  amounted  to  but  a  few  hundred 
dollars,  was  of  more  importance  than  as  many  thou- 
sands would  be  later  on.  He  afted  upon  it  and  gave 
Mead  an  order  to  put  his  Echo  into  marble  for  him. 
Mead's  first  effort  in  art,  and  that  which  decided  his 
future,  was  both  romantic  and  ingenious.  One  cold 

[238] 


AMERICA 

night,  in  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  the  last  of  December, 
after  all  the  townspeople  were  buried  in  slumber  he 
conceived  the  idea  of  building  up  out  of  snow  a  co- 
lossal statue,  to  symbolize  the  Recording  Angel  noting 
the  good  and  the  bad  actions  of  the  year  just  dead. 
By  hard  labour  the  figure  grew  through  the  hours  of 
the  night,  and  as  it  grew,  water  was  thrown  on  it  from 
time  to  time,  which  froze  immediately,  and  gave  it 
strength  to  stand  as  it  rose  stage  by  stage  to  its  final 
completion.  Judge  of  the  surprise  of  the  neighbours 
in  the  morning  when  they  wakened  and  beheld  the 
artistic  creation  which  the  evening  before  had  no  ex- 
istence: the  snow  angel,  pen  in  hand,  recording  on  a 
scroll  the  deeds  of  the  past  year. 

In  1887,  there  was  held  at  Earl's  Court,  near  London, 
an  American  exhibition,  and  the  department  of  fine 
arts  was  confided  to  me.  In  the  collection  of  sculpture 
there  was  a  beautiful  figure  by  Larkin  G.  Mead.  It 
was  a  reproduction  of  his  Recording  Angel,  only  this 
was  the  finished  work  of  the  matured  artist,  realizing 
the  crude  suggestion  of  the  novice's  initial  perform- 
ance. 

Through  Mead's  introduction,  we  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  his  brother-in-law,  William  D.  Howells,  at 
that  time  consul  to  Venice,  who  came  on  a  brief  visit 
to  Florence.  His  literary  work  was  then  realistic  pic- 
tures of  Venice  and  its  people.  When  we  afterwards 
went  to  the  city  of  the  sea,  we  spent  some  most  agree- 

[  239  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

able  hours  with  him  and  his  wife  in  their  hospitable 
home  overlooking  the  Grand  Canal.  Soon  after  our 
arrival,  we  started  to  call  upon  them,  but  the  difficulty 
of  finding  one's  way  in  those  labyrinthine  streets  made 
frequent  inquiry  necessary,  and  the  answers  obtained 
in  the  clipped  dialed:  of  the  Venetians  were  not  easy 
to  understand.  We  scarcely  recognized  the  name  of 
the  Casa  Marino  Faliero  we  sought,  abbreviated  as  it 
was  by  our  boy  guide  into  the  Ca'  Fayare. 


CHAPTER     XV 

Stanfield,  Ruskin,  Eas flake,  Cornelius,  Schnorr,  1863 — New 
Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts — American  Exhibition  in  London, 
1887 — Encaustic  Painting 

I  was  about  to  start  on  this  extended  trip 
over  the  larger  part  of  Europe,  I  proposed 
to  my  colleagues  in  the  Board  of  Directors 
of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts  that  it 
would  be  a  good  opportunity  to  present  in  person  the 
diplomas  to  its  honorary  members  abroad,  free  of  ex- 
pense to  the  institution.  They  gladly  availed  them- 
selves of  my  suggestion,  and  the  engraved  certificates 
were  filled  up,  and  Mr.  Caleb  Cope,  then  the  presi- 
dent, signed  them.  With  some  of  these  honorary 
members  I  had  extremely  interesting  interviews,  es- 
pecially with  Sir  Charles  Eastlake,  John  Ruskin, 
Clarkson  Stanfield,  and  George  Doo,  the  engraver. 
On  the  occasion  of  my  visit  to  Mr.  Doo,  whose 
residence  was  in  a  village  a  short  distance  north  of 
London,  I  was  received  by  a  lady  to  whom  I  was 
afterwards  introduced  as  Mrs.  Doo.  Before  Mr.  Doo 
appeared  she  talked  with  me  about  engravers,  asking 
many  questions  as  to  my  likings,  and  dwelt  particu- 
larly on  James  Heath.  I  assured  her  how  much  I  ad- 
mired his  work,  and  said  that  among  my  possessions 

16  [    241    ] 


REMINISCENCES 

I  had  not  only  an  impression  of  his  large  plate  of  The 
Death  of  Major  Pierson  after  Copley,  but  a  progress- 
proof  of  its  etched  stage.  I  perceived  that  she  was 
gratified,  and  presently  she  said  quietly,  "I  am  his 
daughter."  Mr.  Doo  was  a  very  handsome  old  gentle- 
man, his  hair  perfectly  white  and  his  manners  most 
courteous.  It  was  interesting  to  me  to  compare  his  ap- 
pearance then  with  what  I  remembered  of  him  when 
young. 

Our  call  upon  Mr.  Stanfield  was  an  extremely  pleas- 
ant one.  He  lived  at  Hampstead  Heath  on  very  ele- 
vated ground,  and  he  spoke  of  the  remote  places  that 
were  visible  from  the  windows  of  the  upper  stories  of 
his  house.  He  took  us  into  his  painting  room  and 
showed  us  his  picture  then  in  progress.  Talking  over 
professional  matters  he  said,  "We  artists  are  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  the  dealers  nowadays.  Mr.  Gambart 
will  see  a  painting  on  my  easel  half  done,  and  he  '11 
say,  'What  will  be  your  price  for  that  when  finished?' 
Perhaps  I  may  answer,  'Six  hundred  guineas.'  He'll 
promptly  say,  'Consider  it  mine.'  After  a  time  the 
same  thing  will  occur  with  another  canvas,  and  so  on. 
But  he  will  frankly  tell  me  of  the  large  profits  he 
makes  on  each  sale,  and  smilingly  approve  when  I 
raise  the  price  of  the  next  picture  I  sell  him." 
Mr.  Stanfield  spoke  despondingly  of  his  health,  com- 
plaining chiefly  about  his  legs.  He  was  tall,  but  fairly 
well  proportioned  in  breadth.  I  remember  seeing  him 

[  2423 


AMERICA 

in  1821,  and  he  looked  taller  then,  for  when  he  was 
young  he  was  thin.  I  carried  a  note  to  him,  ordering 
a  picture  that  was  wanted  for  an  obscure  recess  among 
the  shrubbery  of  Vauxhall  Gardens,  and  I  can  clearly 
recall  his  appearance  as  he  stood  on  his  canvas  on  the 
floor  of  the  Coburg  Theatre. 

In  the  course  of  conversation  he  asked  us  what  minor 
cities  of  Italy  we  expected  to  visit,  and  on  hearing  our 
itinerary  he  exclaimed,  "Ah,  how  I  envy  you!"  He 
also  asked  me  if  I  chanced  to  know  anything  of  a 
scene-painter  named  Jones,  who  had  emigrated  to 
America.  He  knew  him  as  an  artist  of  talent,  painting 
in  a  theatre  in  Edinburgh.  I  had  never  met  him,  and 
what  little  I  knew  I  had  learned  from  my  friend 
Heilge,  the  scene-painter  employed  by  William  E. 
Burton,  from  whom  I  had  obtained  quite  a  number 
of  sketches  by  Jones.  All  but  one  were  in  colour, 
wild,  dreamy  things,  the  prevailing  tones  being  broad 
masses  of  bluish  tint  contrasted  with  masses  of  brown, 
a  combination  always  safe.  At  one  time  he  painted  for 
the  Tremont  Theatre  in  Boston,  and  produced  for  it 
a  drop-curtain  so  dazzling  and  splendid  in  effect,  that 
when  it  was  first  uncovered  the  entire  audience  burst 
into  spontaneous  applause.  Jones  had  a  very  pretty 
young  daughter,  who  used  to  dance  on  the  stage  of 
the  same  theatre,  in  the  interval  between  the  serious 
play  of  the  evening  and  the  afterpiece,  a  practice  pre- 
vailing in  those  early  days  of  stage  management.  She 

[243] 


REMINISCENCES 

afterwards  married  a  wealthy  Bostonian.  Jones  had 
painted  one  season  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre  in 
Philadelphia  before  going  to  Boston.  He  was  a  man 
of  very  few  words,  and  Russell  Smith,  the  artist,  told 
me  that  Barrymore,  the  aclor,  when  about  to  intro- 
duce him  to  a  friend,  thought  it  best  to  forewarn  the 
man  of  this  peculiarity,  for  Jones  would  perhaps  have 
almost  nothing  to  say. 

Strange  things  sometimes  occur  that  it  is  impossible 
to  account  for,  and  I  cannot  refrain  from  telling  a 
wonderful  experience  of  my  own  connected  with  this 
visit  to  Mr.  Stanfield.  When  a  boy  I  was  familiar  with 
all  parts  of  Hampstead  Heath,  and  one  night  I 
dreamed  of  standing  at  a  certain  spot,  and  assisting 
a  lady  to  alight  from  a  carriage.  Unlike  most  dreams, 
this  one  remained  fixed  and  clear  in  my  memory,  and 
as  I  handed  my  daughter  from  the  carriage  at  Mr. 
Stanfield's  door,  the  whole  picture  of  my  dream  was 
realized  before  my  eyes,  after  a  lapse  of  more  than 
forty  years.  I  stood  bewildered  with  surprise. 
The  residence  of  Mr.  John  Ruskin  was  a  little  south 
of  the  built-up  part  of  London,  in  the  quarter  known, 
I  think,  as  Denmark  Hill.  In  conformity  with  the 
prevailing  custom  in  England  among  well-to-do  peo- 
ple, the  house,  which  was  large,  was  concealed  from 
outside  gaze  by  a  dead  wall.  It  was  built  of  brick, 
dark  with  age,  and  the  erfecl:  was  rendered  all  the 
more  impressive  and  solemn  by  the  deep  shade  of 

[  244  ]  ' 


AMERICA 

noble  old  trees.  The  centre  of  the  front  projected  for- 
ward in  the  form  of  a  half  hexagon,  and  on  entering 
through  the  door  in  the  middle,  it  was  seen  that  the 
same  form  was  repeated  inside,  and,  thus  doubled,  it 
made  a  spacious,  six-sided  vestibule.  On  one  of  its 
walls  hung  a  large  drawing  by  Mr.  Ruskin,  the  group 
of  the  two  children  in  Paul  Veronese's  Supper  at  Em- 
maus,  in  the  long  gallery  of  the  Louvre. 
Our  interview  with  the  owner  of  this  fine  establish- 
ment was  most  agreeable,  and  in  a  measure  instructive. 
He  showed  us  a  number  of  drawings  by  Turner,  some 
of  them  bold,  dashing  schemes  in  black-and-white  for 
the  effect  of  pictures,  others  small  and  so  elaborately 
minute  in  finish  as  to  need  the  aid  of  a  magnifying 
glass.  He  said  that  to  enjoy  the  full  charm  of  Turner's 
paintings  it  was  necessary  to  see  them  fresh,  and  some- 
times even  before  they  went  to  the  exhibition,  so  rap- 
idly did  their  pristine  beauties  fade,  for  Turner  would 
use  any  pigment  whatever  that  would  produce  the 
desired  effect,  no  matter  how  fleeting  and  transitory 
the  hue.  I  spoke  in  praise  of  his  admirable  character- 
ization of  the  qualities  of  Turner's  work,  in  the  first 
volume  of  Modern  Painters,  when  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
that  was  a  very  juvenile  performance.  I  wrote  it  when 
I  was  only  twenty."  He  made  some  remarks  on  our 
Civil  War,  which  he  termed  our  uwow  in  America," 
for  he  had  difficulty  with  the  letter  "r."  "Before  you 
leave,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  take  a  glass  of  my 

[  245] 


REMINISCENCES 

father's  wine."  I  did  not  then  know  that  his  father 
had  been  a  wine  merchant,  and  so  understood  his 
words  in  a  different  sense.  We  drank  the  fine  sherry 
in  his  study  on  the  first  floor,  where  he  had  taken  us 
to  see  the  Turners  and  some  sketches  by  his  Pre- 
Raphaelite  friends.  Over  the  mantel  hung  a  spirited 
copy  by  himself  of  the  Bacchus  from  the  Titian  in 
the  National  Gallery;  "the  old  man's  god,"  he  called 
him.  He  also  showed  us  a  full-size  copy  of  a  life-size 
figure  from  a  fresco  in  Venice,  which  he  had  just  made 
in  aid  of  a  Parliamentary  Inquiry  into  the  causes  of 
the  rapid  deterioration  of  the  frescoes  in  the  Houses 
of  Parliament.  He  said  that  he  had  reproduced  exactly 
and  minutely  this  mural  painting  in  Venice,  to  show 
its  good  condition  after  three  centuries  of  exposure  to 
the  exhalations  of  a  body  of  water  much  larger  than 
the  Thames. 

Sir  Charles  Eastlake,  the  president  of  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy, I  found  to  be  a  most  charming  gentleman.  His 
residence  was  a  stone-fronted  house  in  Fitzroy  Square. 
He  said  that  he  felt  highly  honoured  by  this  mark  of 
appreciation  on  the  part  of  the  Academy  of  Arts  in 
Philadelphia,  and  he  especially  admired  the  beauty  of 
the  vignette  on  the  diploma,  which  represented  the 
Academy  building  on  Chestnut  Street  as  recons trucked 
after  the  fire,  from  Haviland's  design.  It  was  engraved 
by  myself  from  a  drawing  by  James  Hamilton.  In  the 
course  of  conversation  I  spoke  to  him  of  his  exquisite 

[246] 


AMERICA 

picture,  owned  by  the  Philadelphia  Academy  through 
the  donation  of  the  Carey  Collection,  his  Hagar  and 
Ishmael.  I  expressed  my  admiration  of  that  perfect 
work,  but  not  what  is  and  always  has  been  my  convic- 
tion, that  it  is  equal  to  Raphael's  best,  lest  he  should 
regard  my  words  as  mere  flattery.  I  told  him  that  I 
had  engraved  it,  and  if  I  could  find  an  impression  of 
my  plate  after  my  return  home,  I  would  send  it  to 
him.  He  desired  earnestly  that  I  should  do  so,  but 
unfortunately  none  were  left  in  my  folios. 
This  mention  of  my  estimate  of  Eastlake's  Hagar  and 
Ishmael  reminds  me  of  a  conversation  I  had  with  Wash- 
ington Allston  at  his  home  in  Cambridge.  I  was  speak- 
ing of  my  own  admiration  of  the  works  of  Thomas 
Stothard  in  contrast  with  John  Phillip's  scorn  of  them, 
who  said,  "He  had  little  dolls  dressed  up  and  drew 
them  into  his  pictures."  Now  mark  what  was  Allston's 
comment:  "Stothard?  Good  as  Raphael!" 
In  Berlin  we  saw  the  venerable  Cornelius,  who  be- 
longed less  to  that  city  than  to  Munich,  which  pos- 
sesses the  most  important  of  his  great  works.  But  the 
last  fifteen  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  Berlin,  on 
the  pressing  invitation  of  William  the  Fourth  of  Prus- 
sia, to  enrich  the  walls  of  the  Campo  Santo  or  Royal 
Mausoleum,  destined  to  form  one  of  the  wings  of  the 
new  cathedral.  We  visited  him  at  his  studio  and  found 
him  just  setting  out  with  his  wife  to  call  on  us  at  our 
hotel,  he  having  received  a  letter  from  me  with  the 

[247] 


REMINISCENCES 

Academy  diploma.  Like  all  the  others,  he  expressed 
with  warmth  the  gratification  he  felt  at  the  honour 
conferred.  He  showed  us  his  drawings  for  portions  of 
the  Campo  Santo  pictures,  which  I  thought  more 
beautiful  than  any  of  his  works  I  had  seen  at  Munich. 
I  asked  him  whether  he  used  the  modern  German 
method  of  fresco,  to  which  he  answered  emphatically 
"  No  !  I  would  not  trust  my  work  to  any  but  the  an- 
cient, true  and  genuine  fresco.  There  is  a  man  paint- 
ing in  that  way  in  the  new  library "  -(meaning  Kaul- 
bach),  "but  not  I."  At  the  date  of  this  interview,  1863, 
Cornelius  must  have  been  about  sixty-five  years  of 
age,  his  wife  less  than  half  that. 

We  had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Kaulbach,  but  he 
was  away  from  the  city  and  we  presented  it  to  his  wife, 
who  put  us  in  the  way  of  seeing  her  husband's  great 
work  in  progress  in  the  grand  stairway  of  the  library. 
We  thus  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  modern 
method  that  Cornelius  despised,  in  actual  process  of 
execution.  It  surely  has  certain  advantages  over  the 
old  method,  in  which  the  work  had  to  be  finished  in 
sections  and  could  not  be  retouched,  while  here  the 
artist  could  work  up  his  effect  in  its  entirety,  retouch- 
ing at  will,  and  only  when  it  pleased  him  spray  on 
with  an  atomizer  the  water-glass  or  liquid  silica,  which 
unites  with  the  lime  of  the  wall  and  hardens  the  work 
into  stone. 
When  we  arrived  in  Dresden,  Julius  Schnorr  von 


AMERICA 

Karolsfeld  was  there,  and  we  sent  to  his  residence  at 
once  his  diploma  with  an  explanatory  letter,  and  then 
hastened  to  the  famous  picture  gallery.  Professor 
Schnorr  called  immediately  at  our  hotel,  and  followed 
us  to  the  gallery,  differentiating  us  from  the  crowd 
chiefly  by  the  colour  of  my  daughter's  dress,  which  he 
had  taken  the  precaution  to  ascertain.  He  was  a  tall 
man  with  a  prominent  aquiline  nose,  and  a  benign  ex- 
pression of  countenance  that  was  very  charming.  He 
seemed  proud  of  the  compliment  the  American  Acad- 
emy had  paid  him,  and  wondered  how  they  could 
have  acquired  a  knowledge  of  him  and  his  work.  The 
honorary  members  on  the  continent  of  Europe  had 
in  fad  been  selected  by  virtue  of  their  position  as  pre- 
siding heads  of  the  art  institutions  of  their  city  or 
state,  but  the  great  works  this  artist  had  accomplished 
were  widely  known.  Those  done  for  King  Ludwig  at 
Munich  he  must  have  been  aware  were  of  world-wide 
repute,  and  his  admirable  illustrations  of  Bible  history, 
published  by  the  Literary  and  Artistic  Institution  of 
Munich,  had  obtained  large  circulation  and  hearty  ap- 
preciation in  America,  both  in  the  original  and  in 
copies.  He  was  much  gratified  by  my  assurance  of 
this.  I  found  him  one  of  the  pleasantest  men  I  have 
had  the  fortune  to  meet.  In  every  art  of  Europe,  we 
had  interesting  interviews  with  the  honorary  members 
of  the  Academy,  but  I  fear  to  become  tedious  and  will 
let  the  preceding  suffice. 

[  249  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

This  was  my  second  visit  to  Europe,  for  I  had  gone 
abroad  in  1855,  chiefly  .drawn  there  by  the  Interna- 
tional Exhibition  in  Paris,  and  I  went  again  for  the 
next  of  the  great  French  expositions.  On  this  last 
occasion,  in  1868,  I  had  hoped  to  meet  in  Paris  my 
friend  Christian  Schussele,  a  French  artist,  pupil  of 
Paul  Delaroche,  who  had  settled  in  Philadelphia,  and 
won  the  high  esteem  of  his  fellow  artists  and  of  his 
adopted  fellow  citizens.  Overwork  had  broken  down 
his  health,  and  he  was  now  seeking  a  restoration  of 
vigour  in  his  native  air.  On  my  arrival,  I  found  that 
Schussele  and  his  wife  had  gone  to  Strasburg,  so  I 
followed  them  there,  and  was  pained  to  see  that  my 
friend's  paralytic  affliction  had  grown  much  worse. 
The  time  could  not  be  far  distant  when  he  would  be 
unable  to  paint,  but  he  would  not  be  incapacitated  for 
teaching,  and  I  conceived  a  plan  for  establishing  a 
proper  art  school  at  the  Pennsylvania  Academy,  with 
Christian  Schussele  as  professor. 

There  had  never  yet  been  in  the  Academy  an  organized 
school  with  regular  paid  instructors.  Its  collection  of 
casts  from  the  antique,  destroyed  in  the  fire,  had  not 
been  replaced  until  some  twelve  or  thirteen  years 
after,  when  the  affairs  of  the  institution  awakened  into 
a  state  of  livelier  interest.  The  artists  began  to  contri- 
bute freely  to  the  annual  spring  exhibitions,  and  the 
public  attended  in  paying  numbers,  especially  in  the 
evening,  the  galleries  being  well  lighted.  A  number  of 

[250] 


AMERICA 

casts  were  then  procured  from  London  and  Paris,  and 
a  well-lighted  room  for  study  and  their  display  was 
provided  under  the  north  picture  gallery.  Here  stu- 
dents of  art  drew  from  the  casts,  and  when  sufficiently 
advanced  were  admitted  into  the  life-class,  a  class  car- 
ried on  at  their  own  expense,  the  Academy  merely 
lending  them  the  use  of  the  room  under  the  south- 
east gallery.  I  was  always  a  contributing  member  of 
this  life-class,  and  one  of  its  committee. 
Now  seemed  the  opportunity  for  organizing  the 
schools  upon  the  proper  basis.  After  maturing  the 
entire  plan  in  my  mind,  I  suggested  it  to  Schussele. 
He  was  pleased  with  the  idea,  and  we  arranged  to- 
gether the  terms  that  would  be  acceptable,  and  many 
of  the  details.  Upon  my  return  to  Philadelphia,  the 
committee  of  instruction  and  the  board  in  turn  con- 
curred most  heartily  in  the  scheme,  and  thus  in  1870 
began  the  art  schools  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy 
of  the  Fine  Arts. 

About  this  time  the  institution  began  to  feel  cramped 
for  space,  and  as  the  adjacent  property  could  not  be 
obtained,  it  seemed  advisable  to  look  around  for  an- 
other site.  This  action  was  precipitated  by  an  offer 
of  one  hundred  and  forty  thousand  dollars  for  its 
ground  to  build  a  theatre.  The  transfer  was  to  take 
place  without  delay,  so  the  Academy  stored  its  pictures 
and  found  temporary  quarters  for  its  schools.  A  lot 
one  hundred  feet  front  by  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet 

[251  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

deep  was  secured  on  Broad  Street,  at  the  corner  of 
Cherry,  and  plans  were  invited.  The  designs  sub- 
mitted, however,  while  pretty  enough  in  exterior  ef- 
fect, were  within  altogether  unsuited  to  the  uses  re- 
quired, notwithstanding  full  printed  instructions  as  to 
what  was  needed.  So  all  were  rejected,  the  one  thou- 
sand dollars  offered  in  prizes  were  divided  among  the 
three  best,  and  the  drawings  returned  to  the  owners. 
My  long  practical  experience  in  the  working  of  the 
institution  having  made  me  better  acquainted  than 
any  one  else  with  its  needs,  I  was  then  asked  to  pre- 
pare plans  for  the  distribution  of  the  class-rooms  and 
galleries  on  both  floors,  irrespective  of  course  of  the 
architectural  forms,  which  were  the  province  of  the 
architects  selected,  Messrs.  Furness  and  Hewitt.  Thus 
commissioned  I  entered  on  the  task  with  all  my  heart, 
and  was  enthusiastic  to  the  degree  that  I  felt  as  if  the 
design  and  my  individuality  were  merged  into  one.  I 
could  have  breathed  the  prayer  of  Socrates:  "O  my 
beloved  Pan,  and  all  other  gods,  grant  me  to  be  beau- 
tiful within!" 

The  corner  stone  was  laid  December  7,  1872,  at  the 
northeast  angle  of  one  of  the  courses,  over  a  cavity 
containing  a  collection  that  cannot  fail  to  be  interest- 
ing to  explorers  of  the  remote  future.  It  was  hoped 
that  the  building  might  be  erected  for  a  quarter  of  a 
million  dollars,  but  it  cost  double  that,  including  the 
price  of  the  ground,  ninety-five  thousand  dollars.  It 

[252] 


AMERICA 

was  completed,  ready  for  occupancy,  by  the  spring  of 
1876,  so  that  its  first  exhibition  opened  simultaneously 
with  the  Centennial  International  Exhibition  in  Fair- 
mount  Park.  The  schools  were  installed  in  their  new, 
well-lighted  quarters  under  Professor  Schussele's  di- 
rection, and  all  the  branches  of  the  institution  soon 
settled  again  into  their  usual  order  in  their  new  home. 
This  was,  however,  with  some  exceptions.  The  by- 
laws, or  a  resolution  of  the  board  of  directors  having 
the  force  of  a  by-law  and  adopted  without  one  dis- 
senting voice,  had  established  a  body  of  Pennsylvania 
Academicians,  and  had  provided  that  the  exhibition 
committee  should  be  composed  of  three  Academicians 
elected  by  their  own  body,  and  three  directors  ap- 
pointed in  like  manner  by  their  own  board.  The  com- 
mittee of  instruction  was  composed  the  same  way.  The 
financial  management  remained,  of  course,  with  the 
board  of  directors,  which  was  elected  by  the  stock- 
holders. But  after  I  ceased  to  be  chairman  of  the  com- 
mittee of  exhibitions  in  1877,  this  was  all  ignored. 
In  my  opinion,  the  Academy  would  gain  character  and 
respect  by  returning  to  that  rational  arrangement,  es- 
tablished by  the  directors  while  Mr.  Cope  was  presi- 
dent, thus  buttressing  itself  by  a  phalanx  of  Academi- 
cians comprising  the  best  resident  talent  of  the  city. 
It  would  then  no  longer  be  at  loose  ends,  liable  to 
have  its  exhibitions  capriciously  controlled  by  out- 
side irresponsible  cliques,  encouraging  nonsensical  va- 

[253] 


REMINISCENCES 

garies  and  temporary   fads   to   the  detriment  of  true, 
honest  art. 

As  soon  as  the  galleries  were  opened  to  the  public  with 
the  annual  exhibition  of  1877,  I  resigned  my  member- 
ship in  the  board  of  directors,  having,  as  I  considered, 
given  my  full  share  of  time  to  its  service  during  a 
period  of  twenty-three  years,  though  still  feeling  as 
warm  an  interest  in  its  welfare  as  ever. 
When  in  1886  a  project  for  holding  an  American  ex- 
hibition in  London  took  shape,  an  art  department 
necessarily  formed  a  prominent  feature  of  the  enter- 
prise, needing  at  its  head  one  of  large  experience  in 
work  of  that  nature.  Accordingly  I  was  selected  for 
the  task,  and  was  made  chief  of  the  bureau  of  art. 
Having  collected  American  pictures  in  Philadelphia, 
New  York  and  Boston,  I  afterwards  added  more  from 
Paris  and  London,  and  American  works  of  sculpture 
from  Rome  and  Florence.  The  collection  was  good  in 
quality  and  filled  six  galleries,  each  forty  feet  square. 
I  had  frequent  opportunities  of  perceiving  that  the 
superior  merit  of  the  works  was  a  surprise  to  the  Lon- 
don visitors.  I  give  one  instance  as  an  example.  A  gen- 
tleman remarked  to  me,  "These  pictures  are  not  all  by 
American  painters,  are  they  ?"  I  assured  him  that  they 
were,  or  they  could  not  have  been  admitted.  "Well, 
they  are  copies  of  English  pictures,  are  they  not  ?"  I  said 
that  no  copies  were  accepted.  He  said,  "Oh,  but,  my 
dear  sir,  look  at  that  portrait  of  the  Queen;  that,  of 

[254] 


THOMAS  SULLY 

After  an  Engraving  hy  John  Sartain 
from  the  Painting  hy  Thomas  Sully 


AMERICA 

course,  can  only  be  a  copy!"  I  surprised  him  by  as- 
suring him  that  it  was  an  original,  painted  by  an 
American  artist,  Mr.  Thomas  Sully,  for  the  American 
Society  of  the  Sons  of  St.  George  in  Philadelphia,  of 
which  I  was  a  member,  and  that  the  Queen  sat  ex- 
pressly for  it.  The  liberality  with  which  public  bodies 
responded  to  my  application  for  the  loan  of  important 
works  under  their  control  was  most  gratifying.  Not 
only  did  the  Society  of  the  Sons  of  St.  George  allow 
their  valuable  picture  of  the  Queen  to  be  risked  in  a 
transit  to  London,  but  the  State  authorities  at  Har- 
risburg  passed  resolutions  authorizing  the  commis- 
sioners of  Fairmount  Park  to  lend  Rothermers  great 
picture,  "The  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  owned  by  the  State, 
but  temporarily  in  the  keeping  of  the  Park  Commis- 
sion at  Memorial  Hall.  Of  course,  it  was  conditioned 
that  satisfactory  guarantees  were  furnished  for  its  safe 
return  or  its  value  in  money.  It  being  taken  into  con- 
sideration that  as  the  artist  was  still  living,  the  work, 
if  lost,  would  be  reproduced  by  him  from  studies  and 
photographs  of  its  parts  and  as  a  whole,  it  was  insured 
for  thirty  thousand  dollars. 

The  commissioners  for  the  erection  of  the  public  build- 
ings for  Philadelphia  also  lent  their  magnificent  and 
costly  model,  the  property  of  the  city.  It  was  necessa- 
rily taken  apart  and  packed  in  no  less  than  thirty-five 
separate  cases.  Fortunately  for  us,  the  packing  was 
done  by  or  under  the  direction  of  the  owners,  for  its 

[  255] 


REMINISCENCES 

seeming  perfection  caused  the  demolition  of  nearly 
three-fourths  of  the  m&del.  After  each  portion  was  in 
its  case  it  was  filled  up  solid  inside  and  .around  with 
sawdust.  The  model,  being  of  plaster  of  Paris,  yielded 
and  broke  under  the  weight  of  this  packing,  in  the  in- 
evitable rolling  of  the  boxes  from  side  to  side  at  sea. 
On  opening  them  in  the  Earl's  Court  Galleries  at 
London,  Casani  was  able  to  find  only  enough  of  the 
wreck  to  build  up  the  north  front,  together  with  a 
portion  of  the  return  angles.  The  tower  was  fortunately 
complete,  and  was  erected  with  the  aid  of  a  derrick. 
I  delineated  upon  the  platform  the  ground-plan  of  the 
whole,  and  one  of  the  corner  pavilions  standing  re- 
mote from  the  front  assisted  in  completing  the  idea  of 
the  extent  of  the  entire  edifice.  At  the  end  of  the  ex- 
hibition, Brucciani's  experienced  men  repacked  the 
fragments,  and  ensured  their  safe  return  without  fur- 
ther breakage. 

About  this  time  I  became  very  much  interested  in 
what  was  termed  a  lost  art,  encaustic  painting  as  prac- 
tised by  the  ancient  Greeks.  These  tablet  pictures,  as 
they  were  called,  could  be  moved  from  place  to  place 
at  pleasure,  like  our  modern  works  in  oil  or  water- 
colour.  This  interest  took  me  again  to  southern  Italy. 
I  had  long  been  acquainted  with  the  general  character 
of  the  art  from  two  books  on  the  subject  in  my  library, 
brought  to  this  country  in  1839  by  Mr.  Carey,  one 
by  Count  de  Caylus,  Anne  Claude  Philippe  de  Tu- 

[256] 


AMERICA 

bieres,  Paris,  1755,  the  other  a  free  translation  of  it 
into  English  by  J.  H.  Miintz,  printed  at  the  Bible 
and  Crown  near  Chancery  Lane,  Holborn,  1760. 
The  ancients  appear  to  have  dropped  the  practice  soon 
after  the  time  of  Christ,  and  all  memory  of  the  process 
disappeared  till  the  attention  of  Count  de  Caylus  was 
attracted  to  a  passage  in  the  writings  of  Pliny,  which 
translated  would  read  about  thus:  "Who  first  invented 
to  paint  with  (or  in)  wax,  and  burn  (or  fix)  the  picture 
with  fire  is  not  certainly  known.  Some  think  Aristides 
invented  it  and  Praxiteles  brought  it  to  perfection;  but 
there  were  pictures  by  masters  of  a  much  earlier  date, 
such  as  Polygnotus  and  Nicanor  and  Arcesilaus  of 
Paros.  Lysippus,  on  his  picture  at  /Egina,  inscribed 
that  he  burnt  it  in,  which  he  could  not  have  done  if 
encaustic  had  not  been  in  use  already." 
There  can  now  be  no  doubt  that  the  art  was  practised 
by  the  Egyptians  long  before  it  was  known  to  the 
Greeks,  and  that  the  latter  people  derived  their  know- 
ledge of  it  from  Egypt;  also  that  wax  formed  only 
one-third  of  the  vehicle  in  which  the  pigments  were 
ground,  two-thirds  being  of  mastic  resin.  Up  to  the 
last  decade  or  so,  only  two  examples  of  antique  en- 
caustic painting  had  been  found,  and  one  of  these, 
the  Muse  Polyhymnia  now  in  the  Museum  of  Cortona, 
had  been  discovered  some  thirty  years  before  Count  de 
Caylus  published  his  treatise,  but  he  had  not  happened 
to  hear  of  it.  It  was  turned  up  in  ploughing  a  field 

"  [  257  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

near  Centoja,  between  Chiusi  and  Montepulciano,  by 
a  peasant  who  first  enshrined  it  as  a  Madonna,  and 
then,  when  enlightened  by  his  priest,  "condemned  the 
pagan  to  purgatory,"  making  the  slate  slab  serve  as 
door  to  his  oven.  It  was  rescued  from  this  barbarous 
treatment  in  1735  by  the  Chevalier  Tomaso  Tom- 
masi,  in  whose  family  it  remained  for  a  century,  till  the 
Signora  Louisa  Bartolotti  Tommasi  presented  it  to  the 
Tuscan  Academy  of  Cortona,  when  it  was  deposited 
in  the  Etruscan  Museum,  where  I  examined  it.  I  later 
made  an  engraving  of  it  after  a  photograph. 
The  other  encaustic  was  of  Cleopatra  in  the  act  of  ap- 
plying the  naja  to  her  breast.  It  is  believed  to  be  the 
picture  painted  by  the  order  of  Augustus  Caesar  to  be 
carried  in  his  triumph  in  Rome,  in  lieu  of  the  queen 
herself,  who  escaped  this  degradation  by  her  suicide. 
It  was  discovered  in  1818  at  Hadrian's  Villa,  among 
the  ruins  of  the  Egyptian  temple  to  the  god  Serapis, 
under  the  canopy  as  shown  in  the  cut.  Like  the  Muse 
of  Cortona,  it  is  painted  on  slate.  When  found  it  was 
broken  into  sixteen  pieces,  but  they  have  been  closely 
fitted  together  and  securely  cemented  at  the  back.  It 
is  the  property  of  my  friend  the  Baroness  de  Benne- 
val,  and  is  preserved  in  her  villa  at  the  Piano  di  Sor- 
rento opposite  Naples. 

While  I  was  examining  the  picture  I  complained  of 
the  imperfect  light,  and  it  was  removed  into  the  gar- 
den in  the  glaring  Italian  daylight,  that  I  might  have 

[258] 


AMERICA 

every  facility  for  thorough  inspection.  I  made  drawings 
of  some  of  the  details,  and  a  photographer  sent  for 
from  Sorrento  made  a  copy  from  which  I  engraved  a 
plate,  as  I  had  previously  done  of  the  Muse.  I  also 
wrote  and  published  a  book  on  the  subject,  for  which 
I  am  largely  indebted  to  the  learned  German  savant, 
Dr.  R.  Schoener.  Readers  interested  in  encaustic  paint- 
ing will  find  his  exhaustive  articles  in  the  four  supple- 
ments to  the  Allgemeine  Zeitung,  1882,  Nos.  227,  228, 
229,  230. 

It  adds  to  the  interest  attached  to  these  ancient  Greek 
encaustic  tablet  pictures  to  read  of  the  enormous  prices 
paid  for  them.  For  two  pictures  by  Timomachus  the 
Byzantine,  Julius  Caesar  paid  the  equivalent  of  $350,- 
ooo,  one  being  of  Ajax,  the  other  of  Medea,  the  latter 
unfinished.  He  presented  them  to  the  Temple  of 
Venus  Genetrix  as  a  votive  offering.  A  picture  by 
Apelles,  painted  for  the  city  of  Cos,  was  accepted  three 
centuries  later  by  Augustus  Caesar  in  the  place  of  a 
tribute  of  $100,000.  It  was  a  Venus  Anadyomene  ris- 
ing from  the  sea,  and  it  had  suffered  irreparable  injury 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  figure. 

The  interval  between  individuals  widely  remote  in 
time  is  sometimes  bridged  over  by  a  single  life,  if  that 
life  is  linked  in  youth  with  an  aged  person,  and  in 
age  with  a  youthful  one.  For  example,  I  possess  ob- 
jects of  Shakspearean  interest;  bits  of  his  desks  as 
schoolboy  and  playwright,  pieces  of  his  mulberry  tree, 

[  259  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

of  H erne's  oak,  and  of  the  crab  tree  at  Shottery,  yet 
some  of  these  were  removed  from  Stratford  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-eight  years  ago  by  Mr.  Palmer,  and 
only  a  single  life  has  intervened  between  his  life  and 
my  own.  Palmer  was  with  Garrick  when  he  went  to 
Stratford  in  1769,  to  get  up  his  famous  Shakspeare 
Jubilee,  and  while  Robert  Balmanno  was  still  a  young 
man  he  received  them  as  a  gift  from  Palmer,  and  in 
turn,  when  past  eighty,  bequeathed  them  to  me.  An- 
other of  his  interesting  relics  is  now  in  the  possession 
of  Dr.  Horace  Howard  Furness,  the  famous  Shak- 
spearean  scholar,  a  large  block  of  the  mulberry  tree 
that  Shakspeare  is  known  to  have  planted  in  the  gar- 
den of  his  house,  New  Place,  at  Stratford.  While  it 
was  in  Mr.  Balmanno's  collection,  I  used  to  think 
that  it  left  Stratford  at  the  time  of  the  jubilee,  but 
when  it  was  purchased  from  his  widow  it  was  proved 
by  the  accompanying  documents  that  the  block  was 
presented  to  Garrick  by  the  corporation  of  Stratford 
in  1762,  seven  years  earlier  than  the  jubilee.  It  is  not 
improbable  that  the  idea  of  the  jubilee  may  have 
arisen  in  Garrick's  mind  through  the  presentation  of 
this  relic.  Garrick's  widow,  who  survived  him  forty- 
three  years,  cared  nothing  for  such  things,  and  in  con- 
sequence it  reposed  in  an  attic  among  dust  and  lumber 
until  her  death  in  1822.  It  was  then  brought  to  light 
by  her  executor,  Mr.  George  F.  Beltz,  with  the  two 
seals  intact  that  Garrick  had  impressed  upon  it  in  red 

[260] 


AMERICA 

wax.  That  gentleman's  brother  presented  it  to  Mr. 
Crofton  Croker,  in  1 844,  who  in  turn  presented  it  to 
Mr.  Balmanno  in  1854. 


[261 


CHAPTER      XVI 

Centennial  Exhibition,  1876 — Stuarfs  Washington 

,LTHOUGH  the  preliminary  steps  for  cele- 
brating at  Philadelphia  the  one  hundredth 
anniversary  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence were  taken  as  early  as  March,  1871,  the  Bureau 
of  Art  was  not  organized  until  September,  1875,  anc^ 
in  the  month  following  I  received  the  appointment  of 
chief.  A  building  was  already  in  course  of  erection  at 
the  joint  expense  of  the  city  and  state,  which  was  to 
be  lent  to  the  exhibition  company  for  an  art  gallery, 
and  to  be  known  as  Memorial  Hall.  This  cost  a  mil- 
lion and  a  half  dollars,  two-thirds  of  which  were  fur- 
nished by  the  state,  and  the  rest  by  the  city.  The  de- 
sign, by  a  private  understanding,  was  planned  to  be 
suitable  for  the  accommodation  of  the  state  legisla- 
ture in  case  a  possible  removal  of  that  body  from 
Harrisburg  to  Philadelphia  could  at  any  time  be  ef- 
fected, and  this  understanding  assisted  in  obtaining  so 
large  an  appropriation  from  the  state  towards  its  con- 
struction. 

At  first  it  was  expected  that  the  galleries  into  which 
the  building  was  to  be  divided  would  be  more  than 
sufficient  for  all  the  works  of  painting  and  sculpture 
likely  to  be  contributed  to  the  exposition,  but  the 

[262] 


AMERICA 

applications  for  space  were  so  numerous  that  an  art 
annex  was  ordered,  and  was  erected  to  the  north  of 
Memorial  Hall.  It  was  equal  to  it  in  length  and 
breadth,  and  contained  thirty  galleries,  each  forty  feet 
square,  besides  a  larger  gallery,  one  hundred  feet  by 
fifty-four. 

When  the  architect  submitted  to  me  his  plan,  the 
doors  were  all  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  walls.  I 
showed  him  that  they  occupied  precisely  the  space 
most  valuable  for  the  display  of  pictures,  and  left  only 
the  corners  for  that  use.  I  made  a  sketch  for  him  with 
the  opening  in  each  room  at  its  angle,  cutting  it  across 
diagonally  to  the  line  of  the  walls.  Upon  this  plan  the 
annex  was  built,  and  the  effect  of  the  large,  unbroken 
wall  spaces  was  excellent.  When  eleven  years  later  the 
art  department  of  the  American  exhibition  in  London 
was  placed  in  my  charge,  I  had  the  galleries  there 
built  in  the  same  way,  and  the  novel  plan  was  much 
admired. 

Italy  was  later  than  other  nationalities  in  making 
known  her  desire  to  participate  in  the  International 
Exhibition,  and  in  consequence  I  had  already  allotted 
most  of  the  space  of  the  art  department  before  her 
application  was  received.  But  after  the  art  annex  was 
added  I  was  able  to  enlarge  her  space-allotment  to  the 
extent  she  desired.  Count  Giuseppe  Dassi  was  the 
commissioner  who  presided  over  the  art  exhibit  of  his 
nation,  a  most  estimable  and  patriotic  gentleman,  who 

[263] 


REMINISCENCES 

has  honoured  me  with  his  friendship  from  that  day. 
It  was  my  good  fortune  to  find  opportunities  of  largely 
promoting  the  interests  of  the  Italian  artists,  and  in 
consideration  of  Count  Dassi's  representation  of  these 
services,  King  Umberto  conferred  on  me  the  title  of 
"Cavaliere,"  creating  me  "Officer  of  the  Royal  Eques- 
trian Order  of  the  Crown  of  Italy,"  sending  the  jewel  of 
the  order  and  my  diploma  through  the  Italian  Minis- 
ter at  Washington,  who  in  turn  forwarded  them  to  me 
through  the  Italian  consul  resident  in  Philadelphia. 
It  almost  always  happens  at  the  close  of  these  great 
international  exhibitions  that  numbers  of  contributors 
neglect  to  send  for  the  objects  they  have  had  in  dis- 
play, which  after  a  reasonable  time  are  removed  to 
some  place  of  storage  at  the  owner's  expense  and  risk. 
This  difficulty  I  fortunately  escaped  through  the  es- 
tablishment in  the  main  building  of  a  permanent  exhi- 
bition, and  as  an  art  department  placed  in  my  charge 
was  included  in  the  plan,  there  was  a  home  of  refuge 
provided  for  what  was  left  over  from  the  Centennial 
collection.  Here  the  estrays  rested  until  called  for  by 
the  owners  from  time  to  time  during  the  next  few  suc- 
ceeding years. 

A  gentleman  in  New  York,  named  A.  H.  Reitlinger, 
.  wrote  me  that  he  had  four  pictures  from  Paris  con- 
signed to  his  care  that  were  intended  for  the  Centen- 
nial Exhibition.  They  were  the  works  of  the  noted 
communist  Gustave  Courbet,  and  he  had  hesitated  to 

[264] 


AMERICA 

send  them  until  he  was  advised  they  would  be  accepted 
and  would  find  a  place  on  the  wall.  He  was  assured 
that  the  pictures  would  be  welcomed,  and  that  the 
reputation  of  so  distinguished  an  artist  would  certainly 
secure  them  a  good  place.  The  pictures  were  sent 
thus  through  a  private  channel  instead  of  in  the  regu- 
lar way  with  the  French  collection,  which  would  have 
freed  them  of  customs  duty  and  other  expenses,  in 
order  to  evade  confiscation  by  the  government  of 
France.  Courbet  had  been  a  member  of  the  commu- 
nistic government  which  ordered  the  demolition  of  the 
Napoleon  Column  in  the  Place  Vendome.  All  his 
property  that  could  be  found  was  therefore  attached 
to  help  pay  the  cost  of  rebuilding  it.  After  the  close 
of  the  exhibition  the  Courbet  pictures  were,  of  course, 
returned  to  the  agent  from  whom  we  had  received 
them.  Subsequently  French  newspapers  raised  a  com- 
plaint against  the  American  exhibition  management 
for  defrauding  the  artist's  widow  by  not  returning  her 
pictures.  No  doubt  Mr.  Reitlinger  retained  the  pictures 
only  until  he  had  been  refunded  the  amount  of  the 
expense  he  had  incurred. 

Few  would  imagine  the  difficulties  and  trials  that  be- 
set a  man  in  a  position  of  such  responsibility  as  I  had 
assumed,  owing  to  the  jealousies  and  selfishness  of 
those  with  whom  one  has  to  deal.  My  resolve  to  be 
strictly  impartial  in  the  discharge  of  my  arduous  du- 
ties brought  me  into  frequent  antagonism  with  one 

[265] 


REMINISCENCES 

and  the  other,  making  it  difficult  to  preserve  an  out- 
ward appearance  of  cairn.  If  this  is  true  of  one  who 
had  but  a  single  department  to  care  for,  what  must 
have  been  the  trials  of  General  Goshorn,  bearing  on 
his  shoulders  the  weight  of  the  entire  responsibility  ? 
His  equipoise  and  serenity  under  all  conditions  of  af- 
fairs was  admirable.  It  is  very  gratifying  to  receive 
from  him  a  recent  letter  endorsing  my  management  of 
the  department  confided  to  my  care.  It  is  as  follows: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  SARTAIN: 

THE  enclosed  slip  from  one  of  our  daily  news- 
papers recalls  pleasant  incidents  of  our  connec- 
tion with  the  Philadelphia  Centennial  Exhibition. 
Your  trials,  difficulties  and  final  success  come  fresh  to 
my  memory  as  though  it  were  but  yesterday.  No  one 
ever  succeeded  more  acceptably  in  a  similar  position. 
The  best  test  of  the  genuine  good  feeling  after  it  was 
all  over  was  the  friendly  manifestation  toward  you  by 
the  exhibitors  in  the  department,  and  the  hearty  ap- 
proval of  the  public.  Your  mild,  equable  temper, 
modest  bearing  and  unselfish  interest  in  the  work  were 
admirable;  rarely  are  such  good  qualities  of  disposition 
and  administrative  ability  happily  combined. 
I  cannot  recall  those  days  which  tested  our  patience 
and  endurance  without  a  feeling  of  grateful  acknow- 
ledgment to  all  who  were  associated  with  me  in  the 
administration,  and  especially  do  I  turn  to  you.  I  have 

[  266] 


AMERICA 

only  the  most  agreeable  recollection  of  the  part  you 
took  in  that  memorable  exhibition. 
Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Sartain,  that  you  have  arrived  at 
a  ripe  old  age  with  all  your  faculties  remaining,  you 
are  truly  to  be  congratulated.  When  I  last  saw  you  at 
the  Paris  exhibition  in  1889,  you  seemed  vigorous  and 
full  of  health  and  spirit.  Since  then  I  have  been  be- 
reaved sorely  by  the  loss  of  my  wife.  She  too  greeted 
you  cordially,  and  expressed  her  surprise  at  meeting 
one  so  young. 

But  time  rolls  on, — soon  the  summons  will  come  to 
us  as  it  has  to  many  of  our  associates  in  the  Centen- 
nial. I  again  congratulate  you  on  your  good  health 
and  venerable  age,  and  trust  you  may  have  many 
years  of  happiness  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  life. 
Sincerely  yours, 


Cincinnati,  February  10,  1897. 

Some  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  display  in  the  Cen- 
tennial art  department  alone  may  be  formed  from  the 
fad:  that  it  was  found  by  careful  measurement  that 
the  length  of  wall  covered  with  pictures  was  but  little 
short  of  two  miles  and  a  half,  while  the  floor-space 
actually  covered  with  sculpture  measured  ten  thou- 
sand, nine  hundred  and  sixty-two  superficial  feet. 

[267] 


REMINISCENCES 

As  soon  as  I  had  received  the  appointment  of  chief 
of  the  bureau  of  art,  Mr.  William  D.  Lewis,  whom 
I  had  known  nearly  fifty  years,  from  the  time  when 
he  was  cashier  or  president  of  the  Girard  Bank,  asked 
me  whether  I  would  like  to  have  a  painting  owned 
by  a  relative  of  his  in  London,  the  original  Lansdowne 
picture  of  Washington  painted  by  Gilbert  Stuart  for 
Mrs.  Bingham.  It  is  needless  to  set  down  my  answer. 
He  said  he  believed  he  could  obtain  it,  and  he  did 
succeed.  The  painting  came  out  packed  among  the 
British  contribution,  and  although  it  was  the  work  of 
an  American  artist,  it  thus  got  hung  in  a  central  posi- 
tion in  the  collection  of  British  art.  I  tried  persistently 
to  reclaim  it,  but  in  vain,  so  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Lewis 
and  he  came  to  the  rescue  from  his  home  at  Florence 
Heights  on  the  Delaware.  We  went  together  to  the 
British  residence  within  the  enclosure  of  the  exhibi- 
tion grounds,  and  Mr.  Lewis  presented  the  case  so 
forcibly  to  Sir  Herbert  Sandford,  that  resistance  ended 
and  I  transferred  the  picture  to  the  American  depart- 
ment, where  it  properly  belonged.  By  this  time  the 
galleries  had  all  been  arranged  and  catalogued,  so  that 
the  best  place  I  could  find  for  it  was  in  the  rotunda, 
where  the  light  was  not  so  strong  as  the  painting 
needed. 

Mr.  Lewis  sent  with  the  picture  an  autograph  note 
from  General  Washington  to  Stuart,  dated,  I  think, 
April  4,  1795,  but  I  am  not  quite  sure  about  the 

[268] 


AMERICA 

date.  It  stated  that  Mrs.  Bingham  had  asked  him 
to  "set"  for  his  portrait,  but  that  he  was  uncertain 
whether  it  was  to  be  at  the  State  House  or  at  the 
artist's  rooms  on  Chestnut  Street.  On  the  lower  mar- 
gin was  written  by  Stuart  in  a  very  tremulous  hand 
a  note  to  the  then  owner,  Mr.  Williams,  saying  that 
the  above  was  the  best  autograph  of  Washington's 
that  he  could  find  for  him,  and  that  it  was  especially 
appropriate  in  this  instance  "because  it  relates  to  the 
picture  that  you  own."  He  went  on  to  say  that  there 
were  but  two  portraits  of  Washington  in  existence 
that  he  had  painted  from  life.  "One  you  have,  the 
other  is  in  my  possession.  I  did  paint  a  third  in  the 
winter  season,  but  I  rubbed  it  out."  The  second  one 
he  mentions  is  now  owned  by  the  Boston  Athenaeum. 
This  interesting  document  I  had  fixed  securely  behind 
a  thick  plate  glass  and  fastened  below  the  canvas. 
There  it  remained  till  the  close  of  the  exhibition  at 
the  end  of  Oftober,  when  it  went  back  with  the  pic- 
ture to  the  owner.  I  regret  exceedingly  that  I  did  not 
have  a  photographic  copy  made  of  it. 
It  must  have  been  somewhere  about  1826  that  I  saw 
the  Lansdowne  Washington  in  London,  in  the  gallery 
of  an  auctioneer  on  the  east  side  of  old  Bond  Street, 
about  midway  between  Burlington  Gardens  and  Pic- 
cadilly. There  was  no  other  picture  in  the  room.  I 
suppose  it  was  sold  at  that  time  to  the  gentleman 
(whose  name  I  have  not  learned)  who  later  fell  into 

[269] 


REMINISCENCES 

financial  difficulties,  so  that  the  painting  had  to  be  dis- 
posed of  again  for  the  benefit  of  his  estate.  A  pur- 
chaser could  not  be  found  at  the  price  he  had  paid, 
and  recourse  was  had  to  a  raffle,  the  chances  being 
placed  at  fifty  pounds  each.  It  was  through  this  raffle 
that  it  came  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Delaware 
Lewis,  who  lent  it  to  the  Centennial.  He  got  it  for 
fifty  pounds,  the  cost  of  the  lottery  ticket  which  had 
the  good  luck  to  draw  it.  This  had  been  bought  for 
him  by  a  subordinate  member  of  the  firm  during  his 
absence  from  London,  and  when  he  learned  of  the 
purchase  he  had  been  greatly  incensed,  and  threatened 
to  repudiate  the  transaction.  He  was  calmed  by  a 
warning  whispered  in  his  ear  that  he  was  risking  by 
this  course  the  loss  of  a  lucrative  trade  with  America. 
The  insurance  value  he  placed  on  the  picture  when  it 
came  to  the  Centennial  Exhibition  was  something 
enormous.  The  canvas  next  appears  to  have  been  in- 
herited by  Mr.  Herman  LeRoy  Lewis.  The  present 
owner,  Lord  Rosebery,  paid  two  thousand  guineas 
for  it  in  1890.  In  1805  ^  had  been  so^  f°r  ^ve  hun- 
dred and  forty  pounds,  and  was  bought  later  for  four 
hundred  pounds  by  the  Mr.  Samuel  Williams  to 
whom  was  addressed  the  note  before  alluded  to,  ap- 
pended by  Stuart  in  1823  to  the  letter  from  General 
Washington. 

As  is  well  known,  Mrs.  Bingham  had  this  portrait 
painted  expressly  to  present  to  her  friend  Lord  Shel- 

[270] 


AMERICA 

burne,  afterwards  Marquis  of  Lansdowne.  What  is 
still  known  as  the  Lansdowne  Plateau  in  West  Fair- 
mount  Park  was  named  by  the  Binghams  in  compli- 
ment to  him,  and  1  well  remember  the  stately  Bing- 
ham  mansion  which  stood  in  these  beautiful  grounds. 
It  was  here,  the  reader  will  recoiled:,  that  the  family  of 
Ivanhoe's  Rebecca  took  refuge  during  the  yellow  fever 
epidemic  in  1802.  The  Bingham  town-house,  on  the 
west  side  of  Third  above  Spruce  Street,  was  not  de- 
molished till  much  later  than  their  country  house,  and 
must  be  remembered  by  many. 

The  exhibition  in  Philadelphia  of  the  original  Lans- 
downe Washington  furnished  an  opportunity,  so  far 
as  was  practicable  without  seeing  them  side  by  side, 
for  comparison  between  the  two  whole-length  life-size 
portraits  of  Washington  painted  for  Mrs.  Bingham  by 
Gilbert  Stuart  in  1796.  My  own  impression  is  that 
the  painting  in  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  the  Fine 
Arts,  the  one  ordered  by  Mrs.  Bingham  for  herself,  is 
the  fresher  and  more  brilliant  of  the  two,  but  that  the 
other  is  the  more  elaborate.  The  subdued  tone  of  the 
English  canvas  may  be  caused  in  part  by  the  smoky 
atmosphere  of  London,  which  darkens  everything  ex- 
posed to  it. 


[271  ] 


CHAPTER      XVII 

Washington  Monument — Monument  Cemetery,  Philadelphia 

YEAR  or  two  before  the  breaking  out  of  the 
southern  rebellion,  a  movement  was  made 
toward  the  erection  in  Philadelphia  of  the 
long-desired  monument  to  Washington.  A  committee 
of  eighteen  was  formed,  into  which  I  was  drawn,  and 
which  included  the  treasurer  of  the  fund  raised  by  the 
Society  of  the  Cincinnati  for  that  purpose,  and  the 
chairman  of  the  committee  in  charge  of  what  was  known 
as  the  Chauncey  Fund,  which  had  been  subscribed  in 
the  burst  of  renewed  patriotic  enthusiasm  excited  by 
the  visit  of  Lafayette  to  this  country  in  1823.  The 
preliminary  agreement  now  arrived  at  was  that  these 
two  funds,  which  had  been  nursed  up  into  respectable 
proportions,  should  be  united,  and  that  to  the  sum 
thus  obtained  the  committee  of  eighteen  should  add  a 
sum  equal  at  least  to  the  amount  of  the  combined 
funds. 

The  committee  being  regularly  organized  with  Joseph 
R.  Ingersoll  as  president  and  John  Sartain  as  secretary, 
it  was  agreed  that  the  centre  of  Washington  Square 
was  the  most  suitable  site.  A  general  competition  was 
opened  for  designs  for  the  work,  and  all  appeared  set- 
tled except  obtaining  from  the  State  Legislature  an  act 

[  272  ] 


AMERICA 

of  incorporation,  and  the  necessary  steps  were  accord- 
ingly taken  to  that  end.  When,  however,  the  charter 
came  from  Harrisburg,  it  was  found  to  our  astonish- 
ment and  dismay  that  the  names  of  the  gentlemen 
who  were  about  to  open  their  purses  in  furtherance  of 
the  scheme  were  stricken  out,  and  others  substituted, 
of  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  whom  nobody  knew.  Our 
disgust  may  be  imagined;  the  whole  thing  was  dropped, 
and  there  was  an  end  of  the  project  for  the  time  being. 
The  Civil  War  and  its  consequences  then  came  to 
occupy  every  one's  attention  to  the  exclusion  of  other 
things,  and  in  the  meanwhile  both  funds  were  silently 
augmenting,  until  that  of  the  Society  of  the  Cincinnati 
had  grown  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
and  its  custodians  concluded  that  the  means  at  their 
command  were  sufficient  to  warrant  immediate  action. 
They  invited  designs,  and  in  course  of  time  a  model 
by  the  distinguished  sculptor  Semering  was  received 
from  Berlin,  which  was  of  such  exceptional  merit  that 
it  left  no  choice  but  to  adopt  it. 

When  the  estimate  of  its  cost  arrived,  however,  it 
called  for  an  expenditure  of  fifty  thousand  dollars 
more  than  the  amount  of  the  Cincinnati  fund,  and 
they  felt  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait.  But 
t  reminded  them  of  the  existence  of  the  Chauncey 
fund,  which  had  been  entirely  forgotten  by  the  younger 
generation,  and  of  which  my  memory  alone  retained 
cognizance,  because  of  all  those  actively  engaged  in 
.8  [  273  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

the  earlier  movement  I  was  the  only  one  still  living. 
I  advised  them  to  have  me  summoned,  as  sole  sur- 
vivor of  the  committee  of  eighteen,  to  testify  that  the 
two  funds  were  formerly  merged  into  one  for  the  pur- 
pose of  creeling  a  monument.  It  was  so  done,  and  by 
order  of  the  court  the  Cincinnati  fund  committee  was 
authorized  to  draw  upon  the  Chauncey  fund,  which 
had  increased  in  the  guardianship  of  a  trust  company 
to  more  than  the  needed  amount. 

I  was  consulted  about  material  for  the  likeness.  I  told 
them  that  the  Houdon  head  was  a  safe  reliance,  de- 
clared so  by  such  good  authority  as  Gilbert  Stuart, 
but  that  in  the  year  1831  I  had  held  in  my  hand  a 
death-mask  cast  dired:  from  Washington's  face,  and  if 
this  cast  could  be  found, — and  I  thought  I  knew 
where  to  look  for  it, — a  mould  could  be  made  from 
it  and  a  duplicate  sent  to  Semering.  I  was  successful 
in  my  search,  and  sent  to  Berlin  one  of  the  two  repli- 
cas made;  the  other  I  have  framed  in  my  library. 
Washington  had  first  been  enclosed  in  a  wooden  cof- 
fin, but  was  afterwards  removed  to  one  of  lead,  and  at 
the  time  of  the  change  from  one  to  the  other  this  cast 
of  his  face  was  made  for  Judge  Peters.  The  mould 
drew  out  several  hairs  from  the  eyebrows,  and  the  cast 
in  turn  had  drawn  them  out  of  the  mould.  It  did  not 
look  like  a  death-mask,  but  rather  as  if  made  during 
life.  A  little  over  thirty  years  after  his  death,  Wash- 
ington's face  was  again  open  to  view,  when  he  was 

[274] 


AMERICA 

placed  in  the  great  marble  sarcophagus  presented  by 
Mr.  John  Struthers  of  Philadelphia.  He  still  remained 
unaltered  in  appearance,  but  some  one  stooped  over 
to  kiss  him  on  the  forehead,  and  at  that  instant  the 
features  fell  suddenly  away.  The  unaccustomed  expo- 
sure to  the  air  crumbled  the  face  to  dust. 
When  the  Monument  Cemetery  on  Broad  Street, 
Philadelphia,  was  established  in  1838,  the  wide  por- 
tion of  the  street  terminated  at  Poplar  Lane,  which 
ran  thence  in  a  northwesterly  direction.  The  rest  of 
Broad  Street  was  so  only  in  name,  for  it  was  but  fifty 
feet  wide,  narrowed  in  still  further  by  a  ditch  on  either 
side,  behind  which  was  a  post-and-rail  fence,  the  boun- 
dary of  the  adjacent  fields.  Between  the  hills  at  Pop- 
lar Lane  and  at  the  cemetery  were  two  valleys  crossing 
the  street,  and  at  the  bottom  of  these  flowed  small 
streams  wending  their  way  eastward  to  the  river  Del- 
aware. In  the  spring  of  the  year,  when  the  frost  was 
coming  out  of  the  ground,  there  was  no  other  way  to 
pass  these  hollows  than  to  do  as  I  used  to  do,  namely, 
quit  the  road  and  take  to  the  fence,  moving  sideways 
on  the  lower  rail  until  the  slough  of  despond  was  left 
behind. 

A  design  for  the  entrance  to  the  projeded  cemetery 
had  been  adopted,  but  before  building  it  was  thought 
best  to  devise  some  way  of  getting  the  street  widened 
at  once.  The  managers  agreed  that  the  cemetery  should 
give  thirty  feet  six  inches  of  ground,  provided  the 

[275] 


REMINISCENCES 

other  land  owners  on  both  sides  of  the  street  would 
do  the  same,  and  the  donors  further  agree  to  plant 
and  keep  a  double  row  of  trees  along  each  sidewalk. 
The  proposition  was  accepted  and  the  work  accom- 
plished, and  thus  was  North  Broad  Street  widened  to 
its  present  breadth,  one  hundred  and  thirteen  feet, 
extending  this  noble  avenue  thirteen  miles  in  length, 
straight  as  a  ray  of  light. 

By  the  time  the  managers  of  the  cemetery  were  pre- 
pared to  erect  the  entrance  lodge  in  the  new  position, 
they  had  become  dissatisfied  with  the  design,  and  asked 
me  to  prepare  a  new  one,  which  I  did  in  the  Gothic 
style.  As  originally  built  it  was  in  conformity  with  my 
drawings.  It  was  afterwards  spoiled  by  a  member  of 
the  board  of  managers  who  was  a  carpenter,  and  who 
considered  that  every  building  must  have  a  projecting 
cornice.  During  my  absence  in  Europe,  he  persuaded 
his  colleagues  to  let  him  put  one  in  place  of  the  Gothic 
parapet  and  pinnacles,  so  that  my  original  design  is 
now  travestied. 

The  name  of  Monument  Cemetery  is  derived  from  a 
monument  to  Washington  and  Lafayette,  which  from 
the  beginning  was  destined  to  occupy  the  centre  of  the 
grounds.  A  design  of  mine  was  selected  from  a  num- 
ber sent  in  competition,  but  lack  of  funds  delayed  the 
execution  of  the  work.  After  a  few  years,  a  new  com- 
petition was  announced,  inviting  designs  of  a  less  costly 
character.  Again  mine  was  pronounced  the  best,  and 

[276] 


AMERICA 

it  was  finally  erected  in  1869.  It  is  of  granite,  with 
bronze  ornamentation.  Two  bronze  plates,  nine  feet 
long,  contain  inscriptions  surrounding  large  profiles  of 
Washington  and  Lafayette,  both  inscriptions  and  me- 
dallions being  by  myself. 


277 


CHAPTER      XVIII 

An  Unexecuted  Project — Some  XIII th  Century  JVoodcuts 

'OCALITIES  associated  with  distinguished 
men  of  the  past  are  always  interesting,  and 
of  all  peoples  the  Florentines  of  Italy  are 
especially  conspicuous  in  their  care  to  preserve  the 
memory  of  these  associations.  Casa  Niccolo  Machia- 
velli,  Casa  Amerigo  Vespucci,  Casa  Guidi  and  the  like, 
all  bear  inscriptions  engraved  on  marble  tablets  inserted 
in  their  front  walls.  But  the  most  singular  tablet  is  to 
be  found  in  the  small  triangular  piazza  overlooked  by 
the  Casa  Guidi  windows,  for  it  commemorates  a  va- 
porous intention  that  never  materialized,  an  unrealized 
project  to  erect  there  a  monumental  column.  It  is  a 
curious  pushing  to  extremes  of  a  commendable  prac- 
tice, to  record  not  only  things  done,  but  also  things 
once  intended. 

The  foregoing  serves  as  preamble  or  excuse  for  record- 
ing an  unfulfilled  purpose  of  my  own,  a  darling  project 
nursed  for  some  seventy  years.  It  involved  a  stay  in 
Rome  of  uncertain  duration,  and  although  I  have 
visited  that  city  thrice,  I  have  never  been  able  to  de- 
vote sufficient  time  to  the  pursuit  of  this  my  cherished 
hope,  and  now  at  my  time  of  life  it  is  too  late.  I  have 
always  entertained  the  conviction  that  in  the  library  of 

[278] 


AMERICA 

the  Vatican  could  be  found  a  set  of  woodcuts,  eight  in 
number,  representing  the  Triumph  of  Alexander  of 
Macedon,  and  a  ninth  containing  a  coat-of-arms  and  a 
dedication.  They  were  designed  and  engraved  about  the 
year  1 284  by  a  brother  and  sister,  twin  children  of  Count 
di  Cunio,  Podesta  of  Imola,  a  city  not  far  from  Venice. 
The  dedication  was  to  a  relative  on  the  maternal  side  of 
the  Savilli  family,  who  was  then  cardinal,  but  became 
Pope  in  1285,  with  the  title  of  Honorius  the  Fourth. 
Is  it  not  reasonable  to  assume  with  certainty  that  he 
would  have  placed  this  work  in  the  papal  library,  where 
I  have  hoped  to  search  for  it  ?  Honorius  died  at  the 
end  of  the  second  year  of  his  pontificate. 
A  copy  of  the  book  was  last  seen  in  the  library  of  a 
Captain  Greder  of  the  Royal  Swiss  Guard,  who  re- 
sided in  the  village  of  Bagneux  near  Mont  Rouge,  not 
far  from  Paris.  It  was  there,  however,  only  as  a  loan 
from  a  Mr.  Spirchtvel,  his  friend,  who  was  a  descend- 
ant on  the  mother's  side  of  Jan.  Jacq.  Turene.  The 
work  had  been  held  as  a  kind  of  heirloom  in  the  fam- 
ily, and  was  especially  valued  because  some  old  writ- 
ing in  it  recorded  that  it  was  a  gift  from  Count  di 
Cunio  himself,  the  father  of  the  talented  twins  who 
designed  and  engraved  the  woodcuts. 
Upon  the  blank  leaf  that  followed  the  eighth  cut  were 
these  words,  badly  written  in  old  Swiss  characters,  with 
ink  so  faded  as  to  be  scarcely  legible : 
"This  precious  book  was  given  to  my  grandfather 

[  279  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

Jan.  Jacq.  Turene,  a  native  of  Berne,  by  the  illustrious 
Count  di  Cunio,  Podesta  of  Imola,  who  honoured  him 
with  his  liberal  friendship.  Of  all  the  books  I  possess 
I  esteem  this  the  most,  on  account  of  the  quarter  from 
whence  it  came  into  our  family,  the  science,  the  val- 
our, the  beauty  of  the  amiable  twins  Cunio  and  their 
noble  and  generous  intention  of  thus  gratifying  their 
relatives  and  friends.  Behold  their  singular  and  curious 
history  in  the  manner  in  which  it  was  several  times 
related  to  me  by  my  venerable  father,  and  according 
to  which  I  have  caused  it  to  be  written  more  legibly 
than  I  myself  could  have  done  it." 
Then  followed  in  blacker  ink,  but  in  the  same  kind  of 
letters,  though  better  formed: 

"The  young  and  amiable  Cunii,  twin  brother  and 
sister,  were  the  first  children  of  the  son  of  the  Count 
di  Cunio,  that  he  had  by  a  noble  and  beautiful  Vero- 
nese lady  allied  to  the  family  of  Pope  Honorius  the 
Fourth,  when  he  was  still  Cardinal.  This  young  noble- 
man had  espoused  the  young  lady  clandestinely,  with- 
out the  knowledge  of  the  relatives  of  either  of  them; 
who,  when  the  consequences  could  no  longer  be  con- 
cealed, caused  the  marriage  to  be  annulled  and  the 
priest  who  married  them  banished.  The  noble  lady  fled 
for  refuge  to  an  aunt,  who  lived  not  far  from  Ravenna, 
and  there  the  twins  were  born.  Nevertheless  the  Count 
di  Cunio,  out  of  regard  to  his  son,  whom  he  had  com- 
pelled to  espouse  another  noble  lady  of  higher  grade 

[280] 


AMERICA 

in  the  social  scale,  permitted  him  to  bring  up  these 
children  in  his  house,  which  was  done  with  every  ten- 
derness possible,  not  alone  on  the  part  of  the  Count, 
but  also  of  his  son's  wife,  who  conceived  such  an  affec- 
tion for  Isabella  Cunio  that  she  loved  and  cherished 
her  as  if  she  had  been  her  own  daughter;  loving 
equally  Alessandro  Alberico  Cunio,  her  brother,  who, 
like  his  sister,  was  full  of  talent  and  of  the  most  amia- 
ble disposition.  Both  of  them  made  rapid  advances  in 
various  sciences,  profiting  by  the  instruction  of  their 
masters;  but  especially  Isabella,  who,  at  thirteen  years 
of  age,  was  considered  a  prodigy,  for  she  perfectly 
understood  and  wrote  Latin,  composed  verses,  and  ac- 
quired a  knowledge  of  geometry,  was  skilled  in  music 
and  played  upon  several  instruments;  moreover  she 
was  practised  in  drawing,  and  painted  with  taste  and 
delicacy.  Her  brother  acknowledged  that  he  could 
never  attain  so  high  a  degree  of  perfection  in  these 
arts,  nevertheless  he  was  one  of  the  finest  young  men 
in  Italy;  he  equalled  his  sister  in  beauty  of  person, 
was  every  way  accomplished  in  all  military  exercises 
and  skilled  in  the  use  of  arms,  and  at  fourteen  could 
master  a  restive  horse.  Both  of  them  constituted  the 
delight  of  their  family,  and  they  loved  each  other  so 
perfectly  that  the  pleasure  or  chagrin  of  one  or  the 
other  was  divided  between  them. 

"At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  accompanied  his  parent  to 
the  wars,  and  performed  such  acts  of  bravery  that  his 

[281  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

father  in  admiration  of  his  prowess  declared  on  the 
field  of  battle  that  there  was  nothing  he  could  ask  for 
that  should  not  be  accorded.  He  asked  permission  to 
visit  his  mother;  it  was  granted,  and  she  experienced 
the  joy  of  his  company  for  two  days. 
"  But  in  the  adion  he  received  wounds  that  made  a  pe- 
riod of  rest  needful  to  restore  his  health,  and  he  spent 
some  time  in  Ravenna  with  his  sister  Isabella,  for  they 
were  inseparable;  during  this  time  they  together  pro- 
duced the  eight  cuts  referred  to,  and  the  ninth  as  a 
dedication  to  their  relative  the  Pope.  At  the  age  of 
nineteen  the  brother  was  again  engaged  for  the  fourth 
time  in  battle,  and  was  then  slain.  His  sister  so  grieved 
at  his  loss  that  she  languished  and  died  before  she  was 
twenty." 

Such  is  the  story  found  written  on  flyleaves  inserted 
by  the  grandson  of  the  first  recipient  of  the  book,  as 
told  him  by  his  father.  There  are  some  persons,  how- 
ever, who  doubt  that  such  a  book  ever  existed,  because 
no  other  copy  of  it  is  now  to  be  found.  "  But  that  is  a 
poor  argument,"  writes  the  Abbe  Zani,  who  discov- 
ered the  Finiguerra  print  that  had  been  lost  for  more 
than  three  centuries,  "for  there  is  only  one  copy  known 
to  exist  of  the  book  entitled  Meditationes  Reverendissimi 
fatris  dominijohannis  de  ^furrecrematUy  printed  at  Rome 
by  Uric  Han  in  1467.  Now  suppose  this  copy  to  per- 
ish by  some  accident,  could  those  who  come  after  us 
deny  that  it  ever  existed?  .  .  .  And  so  great  is  the 

[282] 


AMERICA 

rarity  of  ancient  prints  that  in  all  my  researches  I  have 
not  chanced  to  find  a  second  copy  of  many  engravings 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  an  age  far  less  remote  than 
that  of  Honorius  IV."  Of  the  Donatus  printed  by 
Sweynheym  and  Pannartz  in  1464,  and  of  which  three 
hundred  copies  are  known  to  have  been  published,  not 
a  single  copy  is  now  to  be  found.  The  extreme  youth 
of  the  two  artists  who  produced  the  woodcuts  is  no 
argument  against  their  existence,  for  it  is  well  known 
that  of  the  numerous  works  of  Lucas  van  Leyden  the 
finest  and  most  finished  were  done  before  he  had  com- 
pleted his  fifteenth  year. 

The  few  fragments  of  the  ancient  classics  that  have 
survived  the  general  destruction  had  narrow  escapes 
from  total  loss.  Roman  and  Greek  writings,  once 
deemed  immortal,  were  obliterated  to  give  place  to 
monkish  legends.  At  Rome  a  book  of  Livy,  only  half 
effaced,  was  found  between  the  lines  of  a  later  writer, 
and  a  copy  of  Cicero's  De  Repuhlica  was  discovered 
concealed  under  newer,  valueless  writing.  A  page  of 
the  second  decade  of  Livy  was  found  on  a  parchment 
stretched  on  a  battledore,  and  all  the  rest  had  been 
consumed  by  the  artisan  in  similar  uses.  The  history 
of  Phoenicia  by  a  contemporary  of  Solomon  now  con- 
sists only  of  a  few  fragments  preserved  by  Eusebius. 
So  it  is  vain  to  claim  that  the  work  of  the  two  Cunii 
never  existed  because  it  is  not  now  to  be  found. 
Payne  Collier  rendered  us  a  valuable  service  in  caus- 

[  283  ] 


REMINISCENCES 

ing  to  be  reprinted  certain  rare  books  which  seemed 
about  to  perish.  It  was  by  a  fortunate  chance  that  a 
copy  came  to  be  preserved  of  what  Michael  Angelo 
had  painted  on  the  upper  part  of  the  end  wall  of  the 
Sistine  Chapel,  afterwards  effaced  to  give  room  for 
heightening  his  fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment,  now  cov- 
ering the  entire  space.  As  originally  carried  out,  the 
unbroken  series  represented  the  descent  of  Christ  from 
Abraham,  through  his  father,  the  carpenter  of  Naza- 
reth. Some  unknown  artist,  however,  had  happened  to 
make  a  copy  of  the  portion  of  the  work  afterwards 
obliterated.  In  course  of  time  this  unique  treasure 
drifted  into  the  possession  of  Samuel  Rogers,  the  poet 
banker,  whose  friend  William  Young  Ottley  had  an 
engraving  made  from  it,  an  impression  of  which  I  am 
so  fortunate  as  to  own.  The  art-world  knew  from  the 
recorded  history  that  a  part  of  the  original  work  had 
been  effaced,  but  wondered  what  had  been  its  pictorial 
features. 


[284] 


CHAPTER      XIX 

Conclusion 

HAVE  now  arrived  at  the  last  chapter  of 
these  reminiscences,  and  it  is  natural  to 
pause  and  take  a  retrospective  survey  of  the 
various  experiences  glanced  at  in  the  preceding  pages. 
While  chewing  the  cud  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancies,  the 
spectre  of  reproach  arises  for  things  done  that  ought 
not  to  have  been  done,  and  of  others  left  undone  that 
ought  to  have  been  done,  and  all  past  help. 
I  have  a  distinct  memory  of  things  of  a  public  nature 
extending  from  the  year  1814  to  this  year  of  1897, 
and  the  changes  that  I  have  seen  evolve,  were  I  to  tell 
them  all,  would  seem  incredible.  In  the  single  item  of 
illumination,  what  progress  from  whale  oil  lamps  and 
candles,  lighted  in  no  other  way  than  by  making  a 
spark  by  striking  flint  and  steel  together !  The  diverse 
phases  that  painting  has  passed  through,  too;  how  many 
fads  and  fashions  have  been  in  vogue  since  my  student 
days,  when  the  art  of  Reynolds,  Gainsborough  and 
Lawrence  prevailed.  I  quote  a  few  words  from  a  letter 
addressed  by  J.  L.  Gerome,  the  French  artist,  to  my 
friend,  Stephen  J.  Ferris,  the  Philadelphia  painter  and 
etcher.  It  is  dated  May  18,  1897.  "You  say  a  few 
bitter  words  about  modern  art  so-called,  and  I  agree 

[  285] 


REMINISCENCES 

with  you.  Things  are  seen  that  make  reason  and  art 
shudder,  for  it  was  here  that  the  movement  began 
which  is  spreading  further  and  further.  It  might  be 
thought  that  we  are  in  an  insane  asylum,  for  it  is  evi- 
dent to  me  that  a  breeze  of  insanity  is  blowing  upon 
us,  and  works  that  cannot  be  named  seem  to  find  ad- 
mirers !  The  more  stupid  a  thing  is,  the  more  welcome 
it  appears.  It  is  hard  to  believe.  But  there  is  no  cause 
to  be  uneasy  about  such  productions,  as  they  will  soon 
pass  away,  for  only  works  founded  on  reason  are  last- 
ing." 

In  May,  1893,  ne  na<^  written,  "We  are  living  in  an 
age  that  is  out  of  joint,  in  which  we  see  the  strangest 
things.  Simplicity,  naturalness,  truth  are  no  longer  in 
fashion.  We  are  living  in  a  fictitious  and  ugly  world, 
and  I  am  glad  that  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  career,  as  I 
would  never  enter  those  ways  of  which  I  disapprove/' 
But  in  the  material  world  the  progress  has  been  steadily 
forward.  I  have  before  me  a  letter  from  my  esteemed 
friend  John  A.  Clark,  congratulating  me  on  the  last 
anniversary  of  my  birthday,  in  which  he  says,  "Your 
life  has  been  spread  over  the  most  magnificent  period 
of  the  world's  history,  for  more  has  been  accomplished 
for  civilization  during  the  years  you  have  lived  than 
during  the  preceding  eighteen  hundred  years  of  the 
Christian  era.  This  is  a  most  surprising  statement,  but 
it  is  certainly  true.  On  the  day  of  your  birth,  men  were 
travelling  upon  the  land  and  the  sea  with  little  better 

[286] 


AMERICA 

facilities  than  existed  several  centuries  before,  and  as 
far  as  land  was  concerned  with  no  greater  speed  than 
in  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar.  Steam,  eledricity  and  ma- 
chinery have  in  your  lifetime  changed  the  face  of  the 
globe." 

I  began  these  memoirs  only  in  fulfilment  of  a  promise, 
as  I  have  said,  to  my  friend  Thomas  A.  Janvier,  and 
I  finish  them  now  in  my  eighty-ninth  year;  but  in 
bringing  them  to  a  close  there  is  satisfaction  in  a  deed 
accomplished,  and  I  cannot  but  remember  what  Long- 
fellow has  said  so  nobly  on  the  subject  of  old  age: 

//  is  too  late  !  Ah,  nothing  is  too  late 

Till  the  tired  heart  shall  cease  to  palpitate. 

Cato  learned  Greek  at  eighty;  Sophocles 

Wrote  Ms  grand  CEdipus,  and  Simonides 

Bore  off  the  prize  of  verse  from  his  compeers, 

When  each  had  numbered  more  than  fourscore  years, 

And  Theophrastus,  at  fourscore  and  ten, 

Had  hut  begun  his  Characters  of  Men. 

Chaucer,  at  Woodstock  with  the  nightingales^ 

At  sixty  wrote  the  Canterbury  Tales; 

Goethe  at  Weimar,  toiling  to  the  last, 

Completed  Faust  when  eighty  years  were  past. 

These  are  indeed  exceptions'  but  they  show 

How  far  the  gulf-stream  of  our  youth  may  flow 

Into  the  arffic  region  of  our  lives, 

Where  little  else  than  life  itself  survives. 

[  287] 


REMINISCENCES 

What  then  ?  Shall  we  sit  idly  down  and  say 
'The  night  hath  come;  it  is  no  longer  day  ? 
The  night  hath  not  yet  come;  we  are  not  quite 
Cut  off  from  labour  by  the  failing  light; 
Something  remains  for  us  to  do  or  dare; 
Even  the  oldest  tree  some  fruit  may  bear; 
Not  (Edipus  Coloneus,  or  Greek  ode, 
Or  tales  of  pilgrims  that  one  morning  rode 
Out  of  the  gateway  of  the  Tabard  Inn, 
But  other  something,  would  we  but  begin; 
For  age  is  opportunity  no  less 
Than  youth  itself,  though  in  another  dress, 
And  as  the  evening  twilight  fades  away 
The  sky  is  filled  with  stars,  invisible  by  day. 


FINIS 


Ind 


ex 


INDEX 


\BBOrr 

JL\^  Abercrombie,  Dr. 
Abolition  Society 

Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  Pennsylvania 
American  Academy  of  Arts,  New  Tork 
Apprenticeship 

Artists'  Fund  Society,  Philadelphia 
Artists  in  America  in  1768 
Artists  in  Philadelphia  in  1830 
Astlefs  Theatre 

^agnidge  W  'ells 
Battle  Bridge 
Belgravia 
Bell,  Liberty 
^//j,  Poe's 
Bemhridge 
Birch,  ^Thomas 
Em/,  Dr.  Robert  M. 
Birdcage  Walk 
Bishop,  Thomas 
£/#&?,  William 
Blake's  Widow 


[  291  ] 


PAGE 

54,  57 
174 
229 

144,  166,  250 
140 

93,  120 

179 

146 

142 

90 

10 

10 

20 

123 

202,  220 


143,  180 

196,  197,  198 

3 

171 
108 

114,  183 
39 


INDEX 

Bray,  Mrs.  29,  113 

Breakneck  Stairs  9 

Bridge,  Blackfriars  8,  18 

Bridge,  Chinese,  St.  James1  Park  1,  27,  31 

Bridge,  Old  London  5,  8,  81 

Bridge,  Strand,  or  Waterloo  in  32 

British  Museum  17 

Brook  Green  \  27 

Buckingham  Palace  3,  21 

Burton,  William  E.  65,  196 

Canterbury,  Pilgrimage  to  ill 

Carlton  House  7 

Centennial  Exhibition,  Philadelphia  262 

Chapman  62 

Chatterton,  Mrs.  59,  67 

Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia  54,  61,  83 

C^ra/  RejetJed  23 1 

Clarke,  Thomas  Cottrell  2 1  J 

Clay  pole,  Barnes  148 

/#/,  George  62 

>,  George  and  Edward  W.  20 

Copley,  John  Singleton  146 

Cornelius  247 

Courhefs  Pictures  264 

Covent  Garden  Theatre  52 

Cunii,  The  Twin  279 

167 

r  292  ] 


INDEX 

Dibdin,  Thomas  Frognall  98,  107 

Doo,  George  241 

Douce,  Francis  98,  103 

Early  Florentine  School  95 

Eastlake,  Sir  Charles,  P.R.J.  241,  246 

Edwin,  David  54,  85,  194 

Encaustic  Painting  256 

English,  Thomas  Dunn  215,  226 

Erasmus  4° 

Exhibition,  Centennial,  Philadelphia  262 

Exhibition  in  London,  American  254,  263 

Farren  ^8,  60 

Fire  Column,  London  22 

Fireworks-making  5  ] 

Fto  ./fri^r  9 

Flogging  Collegians  41 

F00/?,  Miss  59,  62,  67 

Franca,  Manuel  de  143,  175 


in  London,  Introduction  of  21 

George  the  Fourth  14,  72,  131 

Gerome,  J.  L.  285 

Graham's  Magazine  196 

Gratz,  Miss  Rebecca  183 

Graz$  151 

Griswold,  Rufus  W.  215 

Harlow,  G.  H.  63 

[  293  ] 


INDEX 

Hess  elms  147 

Hirst,  Henry  B.  224 

Hungerford  Market  73 

Hyde  Park  Turnpike  Gate  5 

\nman,  Henry  144,  161,  233 

Irving,  Washington  183 

Italian  School  of  Design  1 04 

Ivanhoe's  Rebecca  183 

Y^ain  146 

Kaulhach,  Wilhelm  von  248 

Kemhle,  Charles  61,  66 

Kemhle  Family  63 

Kemhle,  Fanny  61 

AT«»£/*,  >^/z  PM#>  68 

King's  Bench  Prison  80 

King's  Cross  1 1 

Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  P.R.d.  61,  98,  105,  195 

L«/£,  C^r/«  /^.,  R.4.  98,  100,  158,  228 

Liberty  Bell  1 23 

L^/tf^,  John  60,  67 

London  1 

192 

,  William  Charles  53,  67 

Marrow-hones  and  Cleavers  28 

M^rj^  G^/?  52,  90 

Marshalsea  Prison  75 

r  294 1 


INDEX 

Martin,  John  l  <- 

Mead,  Larkin  G.  2^^ 

Miller,  Mrs.  yq  g,~ 

Montague  House  l  - 

Monument  Cemetery  126,  27  c 

Monument,  Penn  treaty  X5O 

Monument  to  Washington  and  Lafayette  276 

Monument,  Washington  2y2 

N eagle,  John  ^  ^  1?2 

North  American,  The  !Q8 

Ottley,  William  Toung  QA    284 

Parliament  Homes,  Old  ^ 

Payne,  John  Howard  22y 

Jubilees  2t* 

letter  of  Charles  Wilson  ! /i5 

?,  Rembrandt  }/,* 
Poe,  Edgar  Allan                                            JQO   220, 

Pratt^  Matthew  14g 

Primrose  Hill 

\j 

Queen  Vittoria's  Portrait  1O2,  2CC 
Queen's  Basin 

Regent  Street  5 

Regent's  Quadrant  7   ^8 

^«f^,  Mm  P^//y  \  ^ 

Richmond,  George  x  L  - 

Richter,  Henry  112    1 1Q 

C  295] 


INDEX 

Rogers,  Samuel  98,  284 

Roman  Camp  1 1 

Roscoe,  Thomas  98,  102 

Rosetta  Stone  18,  107 

Rothermel,  P.  F.  182,  255 

Ruskin,  John  241,  244 

S/.  James*  Park  1 

Sf.  Katharine's  Dock  19 

St.  Mary-le-Strand  125 

Sf.  Pancras  \  \ 

St.  Paul's  22 

Sarfat'n's  Magazine  219 

Schiavonetti  1 1 1 

Schnorr^  Julius  248 

Schools,  English  34 

Schussele,  Christian  250 

Semitore  \  $  \ 

Serpentine,  tfhe  26 
5^-zc;,  Joshua                                                  16,  176,  179 

Sherrard  Street  and  Mansion  1 2 

Sistine  Chapel  Series  284 

Sloane,  Sir  Hans  17 

Smihert,  John  146 

Somerset  House  \  24 

Southwark  20 

Stanfield,  William  Clark  son,  R.  A.  242 

Steamboat,  First  Sight  of  a  13 

[  296  ] 


INDEX 

Steele  149 

Stephens,  Miss  62 

Stoddard,  R.  H.  227 

Stothard,  Thomas,  R. A.  29,  ill,  177 

Stuart,  Gilbert  153,  178,  194 

Stuart's  Washington*  268 
Sully,  Thomas                67,  102,  142,  163,  184,  192,  255 

Sumner,  Charles  223 

T "a) 'lor,  Bayard  228 

'Temple  of  Concord,  Green  Park,  1814  28 

Thames  Embankment  i  5- 

Thames  Mud  15,  74 

travel  from  Philadelphia  to  New  Tork  in  1830  137 

Tree,  Miss  60 

Trial  of  (Queen  Katharine  63 

Turnpikes  5,  87 

\3niversity,  London  124 

Parley,  John  108 

Famhall  Gardens  52,  56 

/^/z  H0/J-/,  Theodore  1 1 6 

^Washington,  Death-Mask  of  274 

Washington  Monument,  Philadelphia  272 

Waterloo  Celebration  .       32 

/F>j-/,  Benjamin,  P.R.A.  148,  167,  231 

Whitehall  Palace  24 

Wollaston  147 

[  297  ] 


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